


Eight Count

by AmberZ10



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Catwoman (Comics), Harley Quinn (Comics), Poison Ivy (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, F/F, F/M, and I love me some street trash Harley, sorry it took me two years, thought slutty Pam might be fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 71,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberZ10/pseuds/AmberZ10
Summary: Pamela thought she'd found a winner. In reality, she found a lot more than that.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Barbara Minerva, Kate Kane/Renee Montoya, Pamela Isley/Barbara Minerva, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley/Kate Kane, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 553
Kudos: 710





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had two years of writer's block, but evidently Shakespeare wrote King Lear when he was quarantined for the plague. This is not King Lear. But it's words on paper, so that's a start!

Pamela didn’t understand what she’d done to deserve this again.

Why she was back here in this same situation.

She was a _good_ person.

Well…OK, perhaps that was up to interpretation.

Pamela supposed most people had enough gauge of their own moral compass to decide that for themselves—decide where they stood on the ethics spectrum. And that’s not to say Pamela was a psychopath, devoid of any empathy or common emotional decency, no, she was simply a woman with a holistic understanding of her own temperament. One who could easily identify her demons, but had no expectations of ever taming them. Pamela chose to dedicate her energy elsewhere, to tasks in need of more immediate attention. She could stand herself, and at the end of the day, what else really mattered? Whose opinion was she supposed to value above her own?

What she couldn’t stand, however, was yet another morning that began like this. While it was true beginning the workday with an argument was not uncommon, Pamela typically got paid for those.

“There’s nothing here under that name.”

Pamela stopped typing, looking up from her phone like he’d just made a very poor joke. “You’re kidding.”

He wasn’t kidding. She knew that. This was simply the routine they’d established, and at this point, she felt obligated to play her role.

“Isley, right?”

“Yes, Isl—Christ!” Pamela slammed her phone down on the counter, undeterred by the fact that the surface was glass. “It’s not rocket science! It’s not even 8th-grade-level-fucking-algebra! It’s a skirt! A _single_ skirt that I need pressed. That’s it! Why is that so hard? Why do we do this every week? Should I call Dante up? Have I finally reached my own private circle of hell?”

The man shrugged, seemingly unfazed. “If I don’t see it, it’s not here.”

“With all due respect, _Sir_.” She was momentarily distracted when her phone vibrated loudly on the glass with a text notification. “Which is none, evidently…”

**Selina: When are you coming in?**

Pamela banged out a quick reply as she continued. **10 minutes.** “…you have a sign on your door stating this is a ‘proud, Christian business’.”

“And?”

“ _And_ , I’d say that makes your statement claiming ‘seeing is believing’ a tad disingenuous.” She slipped her phone back into her purse. “The skirt was $175. I’ll be back this afternoon to pick up my reimbursement.” And with that, she turned, tossing her now-empty coffee cup in the trash and letting the door swing shut behind her.

Pamela didn’t believe in the social cast system the way her parents did. But even so, that man was clearly not her peer. And yet, every day, he asserted himself without apology. Despite the fact that he was clearly in the wrong. Under different circumstances, Pamela would have perhaps found it admirable, even, the depths his incompetence and entitlement both reached. But he was costing her money, and she simply hadn’t the patience for that.

“Idiot,” Pam mumbled, using her key fob to unlock her tesla and tossing her purse into the passenger seat. “And buy a recycling can.”

Of all her many adversaries, that man there, the dry cleaner, he was her nemeses. There would be a day in their future when she would end their dance, smite him where he stood, ruin him and everything he held dear.

…but today was not that day. Today, Pamela was late.

She sped off towards the office, her wheels screeching as she pulled away.

 _“You have two missed calls,_ ” a robotic female voice rang out through the speaker system.

“From who?” Pam asked, aware that wasn’t the right command, but too frustrated at how her morning was going to care.

 _“From Lillian Isley,”_ the voice responded, somehow understanding her meaning.

Pam rolled her eyes. “Delete.”

_“Call back?”_

“DE-LETE!”

_“Calling Lillian Isley.”_

“You piece of sh—,”

_“Pamela?”_

She gripped the steering wheel tighter at the sound of her Mother’s voice.

_“Pamela, are you there?”_

Pamela had to forcibly unclench her jaw before she could respond. “Yes, I’m here.” she painted on a smile, something the esteemed Lillian Isley always required. Nothing was more important than falsified happiness. “Good morning, Mother. I noticed you called.”

“Goodness,” Lillian laughed to herself, though there was little humor in the sound. “I hardly even recognized your voice. Why is it you sound like some yankee?”

Sighing, Pamela said, “I’ve been living among them, Mother. These things are natural. Anyway, I don’t have much time. Simply returning your call,” she kept her tone clip. “How can I help you?”

“I call you often,” Lillian pointed out. “Responses are few and far between. Calls back are even rarer. From you, anyway. Typically, these menial tasks are allocated to your secretary.”

In every one of Pamela’s bi-annual conversations with her mother, they would eventually reach a crossroads. This crossroads. An opportunity for Pamela to either ignore the subtle jab at her personal relationships, or to rage against it. On this day, she was far too aggravated to take anything lying down.

“That woman was a lot of things to me, Mother. ‘Secretary’ wasn’t one of them.”

“Fine.” Pamela could hear her Mother waving off the correction, even through the phone. “Personal assistant. It’s such a minute distinction, Pamela, really. For someone who’s in a hurry, I’m surprised you wasted your precious time—,”

“Why did you call, Mother?” Pam cut her off, making the final turn towards her office, just ready to be done at this point. “I’m late for my meeting.”

“Well, I thought you might like to know your Father has landed himself back in the hospital,” Lillian informed her, her passive aggression palpable. “Not that you ever truly cared about his health…but he wanted me to let you know, and like the attentive wife I am, I obeyed.”

Pam rolled her eyes, phoning in her answer, “What terrible news.”

“Yes,” her mother’s tone was cold. “I can tell you’re positively distraught.”

“Mm…mhm,” Pam distractedly acknowledged, showing her badge to the security guard at the gate and heading towards her parking spot. “Another heart attack?”

“The doctors aren’t quite sure what it is, honestly. But—,”

“Well, let me know when you find out,” Pamela cut her off. “Tell Daddy I’m praying for a speedy recovery.”

Her mother scoffed. “When was the last time you prayed?”

“Shucks, ya got me there, Mother,” she mocked. “Always nice to catch up.”

Pamela ended the call before she got a response. 

When she emerged from the elevator on the top floor a few minutes later, Barbara immediately shot up from her chair.

“Ms. Isley!” she nearly shouted, startling Pamela only enough to inspire a raised eyebrow. “Mr. Wayne has left me four messages this morning. He really needs to see you in his office.”

Pam sighed as she dropped her purse and coat on the younger woman’s desk. “Barbara, honey, can I give you a piece of personal and professional advice?”

“Um, well, yeah, but—,”

“Never let a man dictate your time,” Pam told her, uninterested in her protests.

“But, Ms. Isley…he’s your boss,” Barbara reminded her.

“Yes,” Pam acknowledged. “Just like I am your boss. And yet, you’ve already called me “Ms” twice in this very brief conversation.”

Barbara’s face blushed red enough to match Pamela’s hair. “Dr. Isley. I’m so sorry.”

Pam smiled, taking her hand to pat it condescendingly. “Better.” She passed her by then, but turned on her heel before she made it too far down the hallway. “Barbara?”

“Yes, Ma’am?” she once again stood at attention.

“Have I ever once asked you to contact my mother?”

Barbara scrunched her freckled nose in confusion. “Um…no, Ma’am. I was under strict orders to block all her calls.”

That brought a smile to Pam’s face, her first organic one all morning. “Perfect. Let’s keep it that way.”

Barbara nodded, bobbing head until she reached her seat, and Pam began in the direction of Mr. Wayne’s office, the clacking of her stilettos echoing off the copper, epoxy finished flooring.

She could see him sitting behind his desk through the glass walls of his office, his wife on the couch, her legs crossed elegantly, pinstriped skirt suit obviously well-taken care of—dry-cleaned.

Bruce Wayne was a “good man”. And yes, the mental air quotes were mandatory, Pamela made sure to insert them whenever she thought about him. He held himself in high ethical regard…but in reality, was a liar and a crook just like the rest of them. He just did it with an even hand and a handsome smile, his square jaw and broad chest the universal symbols of trustworthy men everywhere. Even-keeled leadership. A man in control. The good king. The hero of every story, just by default. He had the benefit of even his down doubt, and that, Pamela thought, was quite an impressive feat.

Then again, it’s plausible his boy scout reputation would have remained slightly more genuine had he married a woman with less dubious ambition. Everything you needed to know about Selina Kyle, you could see in her face. Her bright green always offered a mischievous glint, a plan developing behind them, the color a stark contrast against her dark olive skin, while her lips were drawn into a seemingly permanent, scheming smirk. Like Pamela, she had long ago arrived at a comfortable understanding of who she was but took the process of self-acceptance one step further—offering her demons a seat at the table rather than simply tolerating them.

“Don’t start with me, Bruce,” Pamela said, neglecting to knock and simply entering, before he could even open his mouth. “Either of you, actually. I’ve had a day.”

“Pamela, it’s 9am.”

She ignored him, turning her attention to Selina instead. “What would it cost for someone to commission a psychological case study, do you think?”

“On your mother?” was Selina’s educated guess.

“Well, yes, I’m sure that would be rather illuminating,” Pam acquiesced. “But no, I was thinking about my dry-cleaner.”

“God, is that still going on? Get another dry-cleaner, Pamela.” Selina clearly had little patience for these antics this morning.

Pamela postured. “What? You expect me to drive another four blocks to a less convenient location just because of his incompetence?”

“As opposed to launching a psychological study? Yeah, that seems like the more reasonable option.”

“Remind me what your problem with your mother is, again?” Bruce attempted to jump in. His mother died when he was young, and as a result, he felt the need to live vicariously through every mother-child relationship he came across, regardless of any obvious dysfunction.

Pam sighed, taking a seat next to Selina on the couch. “My Mother is a wealthy, southern bigot of the most stereotypical variety. One who has made it extremely clear what she thinks of my _lifestyle_.”

“Which lifestyle is that?” Selina followed up. “The one where you sleep with any and every muscular woman who looks like she’d be able to pin you to a wall?”

Pam crossed her legs, leaning back. “I resent that implication, Selina…you know I don’t discriminate based on muscularity. And the position really isn’t all that important.”

“Speaking of which…” Bruce attempted a smooth segue. “Kane—opens her season in three weeks, do you have a challenger for me?”

“I thought ‘challenge’ wasn’t exactly the intent here,” Pam pointed out.

“An opponent, then,” Bruce rephrased. “I need someone who’s going to put asses in the seats.”

Pamela rolled her eyes. “I know what you need, Bruce, that’s my job.”

“Then who do you have?” Selina asked, distractedly running a hand through her short black hair, twirling it as best she could around her finger.

“A rookie out of Central,” Pam told them. “Brand new, just qualified, but she’s big in the underground leagues.”

Bruce rapped his knuckles on the glass surface of his desk, clearly annoyed by her proposal. “I’d like to avoid filling my arena with that crowd, Pamela. Believe it or not, I’m running a business here. The goal is to actually make money off of this fight.”

“When did I suggest lowering ticket prices?” Pam challenged, though her body language remained relaxed.

Selina didn’t exactly seem thrilled either, but she still asked, “What’s her name?”

“Harleen Quinzel. She’s violent, she’s eccentric…terribly undisciplined. Most importantly, though, she’s got that community behind her,” Pam said. “They turn up to watch her fight nobodies and amateurs every week. I’m sure they’ll open their wallets to watch her take on the defending champion. That’s an opportunity no fan’s gonna pass up.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed, his dark eyebrows scrunching together. “What do you mean ‘every week’?”

“Her coach has had her fight once a week for the last two years straight,” Pam clarified what she thought was already a pretty straight-forward sentence.

“Jesus.” Selina looked somewhere between alarmed, impressed, and disgusted. “What’s she on? cocaine?”

Pam shrugged. “All her tests come back clean.”

“Well, those are Central tests she’s passing,” Bruce felt the need to remind them. “You’d be amazed what slips through the cracks.”

Pam wished she’d been recording this particular conversation for Barbara, as this was a prime example of why she found men exhausting. “Again, I’m aware, Bruce. Did you forget who you’re talking to?”

“Just have her tested before you schedule it,” he brusquely concluded, rather than give Pam the apology she felt she deserved. “I’m not spending a penny on advertising until it’s locked in.”

“So what do you think? Let her go two rounds?” Selina asked, eager to get into her aspect of the business.

“That’s up to you,” Bruce told her.

“Have you talked to Kane?” Selina directed her question at Pam.

“Not yet, but we’ve got a working lunch today,” Pam answered, getting to her feet and dusting herself off (despite the absence of any dust).

Bruce rolled his eyes, both at Pam and the blinking call waiting on his phone. “Of course you do.”

Pamela chuckled as she turned towards the door. “You’d be lost without me, Mr. Wayne.”

“Lost…but far less vulnerable to sexual harassment claims,” Bruce countered.

“I’m a double-edged sword, Darlin’.” Pam sent a wink over her shoulder at him.


	2. Chapter 2

Pamela’s body shuddered, her fingers digging into Kate’s shoulder muscles, breath hot against her neck as she finished.

“Shit,” Kate laughed that smug laugh of hers, slowly letting Pam’s feet return completely to the floor. “Somebody was excited.”

“Pent up, more like,” Pam countered, not wanting to give her the complete satisfaction. She took a moment to catch her breath, pulling her skirt back down to an appropriate length and tucking her blouse in as Kate watched, one dark eyebrow raised—the one with the scar running across it.

After evidently deciding she’d had her fill of the show, Kate turned to pick her Gatorade up off the bar and took a sip, every movement portraying more confidence than any human had a right to. “That so?”

 _Let’s not do this_. “Yes, my father’s dying and my mother’s trying to get me to care, it’s adding significant stress to my life,” Pam explained, picking her blazer up from where Kate had discarded it on the couch.

“Oh, damn,” Kate sort of cringed, losing a bit of her swagger, clearly unsure of how to respond. “Do you—uh—need a hug or something?”

Pam thought to laugh but shook her head instead, already mentally jumping to another topic as she pulled her cellphone out of her purse. “Let’s talk about your opener.” She fired a quick email off to Kate, whose phone then buzzed on the counter beside her.

Kate hesitated for a moment, like she knew she shouldn’t enable Pam’s emotional impotence. But eventually, her curiosity got the better of her and she opened the message, clicking on the video link Pam had attached. “Who’s this?”

The video depicted a dirty boxing ring in some decrepit warehouse setting, a tattooed blonde with her hair in pigtails and white paint smeared on her face was holding another woman by the back of the neck, forcing her to remain doubled over as she repeatedly kneed her in the face, blood spurting like a faucet from the victim’s nose. 

“Quinzel, Harleen Quinzel. Have you heard of her?”

“Uh…no…” Kate seemed to be wracking her brain. “She knows she can’t do that in the ring though, right? Use her knees? She understands this isn’t MMA, yeah?”

“She started in an underground, more street-fight oriented setting,” Pam explained. “We’ll be introducing her to the mainstream with this match. But she qualified through all the proper channels, so I’m sure she knows the rules.”

“OK, well, I’d like you to be positive,” Kate didn’t sound amused. “Since when do we invite street fighters to opening night?”

Pamela really didn’t have the energy to be second guessed today. Although Kate’s opinion on who her opponent was did matter somewhat, in reality, she had next to zero say over the final decision. “We’re expanding the demographic. It’s about filling the stadium, Kate, you know that,” she regurgitated Bruce’s speech from earlier. “We’re story tellers, at the end of the day, and it’s time we explore some new plotlines.”

Kate laughed at that, flopping down on the couch and interlacing her fingers behind her head. “Story tellers? What a romantic way to say liars.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve suddenly developed a conscience,” Pamela scoffed, trying her best not to notice how Kate’s joggers hung loosely off her hips.

“No,” Kate assured her. “Although ‘conscience’ is the name of my new Lambo. You want a ride?”

Pam allowed a smile at that as she checked her watch. “I’ll have to take you up on that some other time.” She grabbed her purse while she still had the willpower, slinging it over her shoulder. “The match with Quinzel isn’t locked in yet, I still have to meet with her manager. Once we have the fine print hammered out, I’ll send you the details.”

Kate appeared slightly offended, though she tried to play it off like a joke. “And back to business just like that, huh? I don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

“Well, I’m done with you,” Pam already had the door open, a bit of natural light cutting through the moody ambiance of Kate’s spacious basement. “You can take the rest upstairs to your wife.”

Pamela never felt as dirty as she thought she would leaving Kate’s house. Turned out it could be kind of a turn on, being fucked by someone’s wife. And sure, later that night, with a glass of wine or two in her, Pam would likely start to feel that sinking feeling. The one that no amount of self-love or loathing could dissipate. But that was an issue for another time, right now she was perfectly content to look back at the house and wonder if Renee was up there watching her leave.

Renee had to know, right? This had been going on for nearly a year now and Renee was a literal detective for Christ’s sake, she had to at least have an inkling. She was always unpleasant around Pamela, but had never actually broached the subject, so…what’s a girl to do?

Pamela, like many little girls, had grown up with ambition. A plan, a calling. She was going to save the world! That was the idea, anyway. Until she got her PhD in biochemistry and realized using it for a noble cause was neither lucrative nor terribly rewarding. She simply didn’t like people enough to attempt to save them. Profiting off their pain and sleeping with their wives was the much easier slope to slip down.

Pam headed towards the entrance of the Kane estate; her car nearly silent as it crept towards the end of the long driveway bracketed by a pair of slightly overgrown hedges and some rather eccentric looking gargoyles. As she approached it, the gate opened in front of her without Pam being in range of the sensor…the wrought iron giving way to the vehicle Pam immediately recognized as Renee’s Cadillac, meaning she hadn’t been home. _Good_. Pam nodded at her through the windshield, a gesture that was not returned, and with that she was back on the main road.

Her first job out of college had been working for a lab that analyzed soil samples near retired nuclear testing sites, trying to determine what—if any—vegetation could be made viable in that harsh environment, and how long it took before the ecosystem showed signs of recovery. Spoiler alert—the results weren’t promising.

It was then and there Pam realized how much easier it was to destroy something than to build it back up again, and after a few more futile years of trying to lobby against the stockpiling, testing and utilization of nuclear energy as a weapon of war, she gave up, frankly.

“One new message from Selina Kyle,” her car told her. “You get your rocks off yet? Quinzel and her manager are already here.”

“Fuck,” Pam cursed.

Yes, Pam would have loved to help save the world, but in her experience, after years of studying the effects of man-made climate change and gaining a holistic understanding of the impending doom on our horizon due to lifetimes of negligence, malfeasance and incompetence, she decided maybe it wasn’t healthy to waste her life—a relative blip on the radar of human existence—trying to pull humans back from a tipping point that they refused to acknowledge.

“Reply,” Pam commanded. “Put them in my office. There in 10.”

And so…she began to freelance. Went from working for large agriculture firms, consulting on “sustainable farming practices”, to GMO development, to food safety testing in conjunction with the FDA and CDC, finally making the odd jump to being contracted by the USADA (otherwise known as the US Anti-Doping Agency) before realizing that the money was in the people who weren’t passing, not the ones who were.

That’s when Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle found her, and how she was introduced to the sordid world of boxing. Who knew punching other humans in the face for sport was such a dirty business?

Pam tapped her foot impatiently as the elevator ascended. For the record, she’d told Quinzel’s team 3pm, not 2:30, and they hadn’t exactly struck her as the punctual type so she assumed she’d have plenty of time for a house call. Now Pam was beginning to foster a personal vendetta against people who showed up egregiously early to things, it was just as inconvenient as those who were perpetually tardy.

Now, Pam had to give Bruce and Selina some credit, after the whole Antonio Diego debacle (which Bruce still claims no knowledge of), they cleaned house, cutting ties with the testing agencies that allowed Antonio to slip through the cracks pumped to the gills with a then very difficult steroid to detect called ‘Venom’. It was Pamela’s pioneering testing methods that initially found it, and so Bruce came to her directly, offering her about 3 times her USADA salary (plus what she was getting from those who had no business coming up clean) to work directly for his organization, aka the governing body of all east coast boxing leagues from the streetfighters to the professionals, headquartered in Gotham City. God, was that an unpleasant move.

The elevator doors inched apart and immediately there were words coming her way.

“Dr. Isley!”

“My God, Barbara!” Pam exclaimed as she crossed the lobby towards her office, passing Barbara where she stood at her desk. “You have to be a little less excited to see me.”

“Sorry—so sorry.” Barbara sat right back down. “Mr. Kerr and Ms. Quinzel are already in your office with Ms. Kyle.”

“I’m aware of that, Barbara, thank you,” Pam assured her. “Get them some Mountain Dew or whatever it is they drink.”

Selina was leaning back against Pam’s desk, her arms crossed, making the face that Pam recognized meant she’d rather not be having whatever conversation she was having with whoever was forcing her to have it.

In front of her sat a man and a woman, both appearing to have made themselves comfortable in Pam’s leather armchairs. The woman Pam recognized from her research as Harleen (her tattoos looked even less thought-out in person), the man she’d only spoken with over the phone.

“Oh, Pamela, there you are,” Selina greeted, looking instantly grateful at no longer being alone with these two. “Glad you could make it.”

“Yes, well, it’s not often I’m forced to come early to my own meetings.” Her smile was tight as she closed the door behind her. “You must be Jared and Harleen.”

“That’s us,” Jared said, not rising to offer her any formal greeting, not even a handshake. Harleen remained silent.

 _Excellent_.

“Pleasure to meet you in person,” Pam said, though she hoped her tone communicated the inverse as she circled behind her desk to sit down.

“I was just telling Harleen how happy we are she’s joining our family,” Selina smiled what Pam knew was a very fake smile. “I actually have a meeting of my own in a few minutes, so perhaps we start with compensation and I can leave you in Pamela’s very capable hands for the athlete screening?”

“We want 50% of ticket revenue,” Jared started in immediately, his vocal quality already grating.

“That’s—,” Selina stopped to force out an awkward laugh. “That’s completely unreasonable.”

Pam let her eyes drift away from Jared and his stupid black satin button down, deciding she could afford to zone-out during this aspect of the conversation. Harleen seemed to be in the same boat, her gaze trained on Selina’s Jimmy Choos rather than engaged in the back and forth. Her leg bounced—nervously, perhaps—up and down up and down, the consistent _tap tap tap_ something that only Pam seemed to be bothered by. She was pretty, not handsome like Kate, her features more delicate than Pam was expecting. Of course it helped that she was presently only marred with the remnants of a black eye and a slightly puffy lower lip. She’d looked much worse for wear in the scouting videos. Her eyes were big and blue and they continued to stare, unblinking, at Selina’s shoes.

“I don’t even get 50% of the ticket revenue and my name’s on the damn business license,” Selina was saying. “Best I can do is a guaranteed 15% with the option of additional compensation based on pre-sales.”

“And that’s on top of our pay for the match,” Jared clarified.

“Yes,” Selina confirmed. “This is the real deal, your money will be coming to you in a check after the contract is signed and the match is completed, not cash in a paper bag or whatever it is you’re used to.”

Jared rapped his fingers rhythmically on the leather armrest of Pam’s chair, appearing to think that over, the metal of his rings scraping against each other. “Fine,” he finally acquiesced. “But I want it in writing that Harley isn’t some one-and-done warmup. I want multiple fights and I want her to go multiple rounds against Kane in this opener, you got that?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a kickoff to the season if she went down after one, now would it?” Selina agreed, though it was clear she wasn’t all too pleased with his tone. “And the contract will be good for 5 matches plus the lead up to a title fight, if she qualifies.”

“And will she qualify?”

“There are more than a few factors that play into that decision,” Selina was dismissive. “Let’s just focus on putting on a good show next month, OK?” She blatantly checked her watch and then pushed off the desk, that was evidently her cue to exit. “I’ll get the contract drawn up, and if she passes screening, I’ll have it forwarded over to you.” Selina paused in front of Jared, taking his hand to shake, not accepting any further disrespect for an answer, and even from Pam’s vantage point she could tell his grip was weak.

Selina then moved on to Harleen, waiting to see if the younger woman would finally acknowledge her. She didn’t. “Fantastic,” she clapped her hands. “Well, I’m off. I look forward to seeing what you can do in the ring, Quinzel.”

And just like that, Selina was gone, leaving Pamela alone with two characters her mother would probably describe as “unsavory”.

“So,” Pam began, sitting forward. “Perhaps a better introduction is in order. I’m Dr. Pamela Isley, and my responsibility here is multi-pronged. Firstly, my job is to scout fighters like yourself and determine their viability at this level of competition based on perceived liabilities attributed to…I’m sorry, am I boring you?” she trailed off when Jared let out a massive sigh, something she swore she saw Harleen flinch at.

“My girl came here for a drug test, not your life’s story, sweetheart,” Jared told her, having the audacity to roll his eyes as he did.

 _You slimy, G-Eazy looking mother—_ “Mr. Kerr, it appears you’re under the mistaken impression that your penis elevates you to a station above mine.”

Harleen suddenly clamped her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, earning a death glare from Jared in return.

_So she’s not a robot, then._

“It would only take a snap of my fingers for ‘your girl’ to never see the inside of a ring again,” Pam warned. “This is not the foot you want to start our relationship off on, I promise. But sure, if you’d like to skip ahead—,” she turned her focus to Harley now. “Do you have AIDS, princess?”

“No,” Jared answered for her, Harleen’s eyes remaining downcast.

“HIV? Hepatitis B or C? Any other known bloodborne pathogens or communicable diseases?

“No,” he answered again.

“Well, we’ll see about that…” Pam grabbed a file she’d preemptively labeled ‘Harleen Quinzel’ out of her desk, opening it to record her (his) answers. “Full name?”

Jared raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly between Pam and the folder she was holding with the answer to her question. “Harleen Quinzel.”

“Frances Quinzel. Harleen Frances Quinzel,” she finally spoke. “But, uh, you can call me Harley. Everyone does.”

Her voice was high and awfully girlish, her Gotham accent thick, an odd contrast to her scarred, tattooed body and the persona she portrayed in the ring.

“Ah, so she speaks,” Pam mocked. “How tall are you, Harley?” she really preferred to engage with her rather than Jared. “How much do you weigh?”

“5’6”, 150,”…back to Jared, again. “But she’ll be down to 140 by next month.”

“Good,” Pam made a note. “Do you use any illicit substances?”

“Recreationally,” was Jared’s answer.

“Which ones?”

“Recreational ones.”

“So…alcohol? Marijuana?”

“Among other things.”

“How illuminating…Any performance enhancing substances?”

“Just caffeine,” Jared’s smile was mocking.

“Wonderful, well, we’ll verify all that with some blood-work.” Pam closed the folder, tucking it under her arm as she stood. “The testing will take place down in my lab. Harley, you come with me. Mr. Kerr, my assistant should be by momentarily with some Mountain Dew. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable, it’s going to be a while.”


	3. Chapter 3

The elevator ride had been predictably silent up until this point, though Harley’s attention had moved from obscure tiles on the floor to a frantic survey of her surroundings.

_It’s an elevator, what all is there to see?_

She seemed to be most mesmerized by the illuminated floor buttons, her eyes darting from one level to the next as the elevator descended to the basement.

Pam watched her subtly out of the corner of her eye, the young woman’s file still tucked safely under Pam’s arm. “I find this all goes over a lot easier when people are honest with me upfront,” she said, checking their metal reflection for Harley’s reaction.

The blonde nodded, her pigtails bouncing almost whimsically with the movement. “Kinda hard to do.”

This surprised Pamela, as she hadn’t truly been expecting a response. This woman’s affect was so…odd. It was as if her mouth had been taped shut, her eyes her only form of expression. But a sentence—well, half of one, anyway—that was a start. “Why’s that?”

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open, and Pam took a left into the fluorescent-lit hallway, Harley lagging. “Well, Mistah J says that ain’t my job.”

Pam glanced back over her shoulder, “What isn’t?”

Harley shrugged. “The feelin’ good and feelin’ better part, I guess. My job’s just to hurt people, I don’t worry about the rest of it.”

Pulling out her keycard as they approached the door labeled “Performance Testing Lab”, Pam unlocked the door, stepping inside and holding it open for Harley, the lights automatically flickering on as they entered.

“In other words, you don’t know what he has you on?” Pam attempted to clarify as she extended her arm to indicate Harley should have a seat.

Harley first shook her head and then shrugged—god, even her physical vocabulary left a lot to be desired—“Sorry, can’t help ya, Lady.” She did take a seat, though.

“Well,” Pam sighed. “I suppose that’s something we can find out together.” She left Harley alone for a moment to retrieve her personal protective equipment, stretching a pair of latex gloves to fit her hands and sliding the safety glasses onto her face, discarding her blazer in favor of a lab coat. When she returned, Harley was again surveying her surroundings, her white Chuck Taylor scuffing the linoleum flooring with each swing of her leg.

She appeared a bit…childish, now that Pam had a better look at her. Not in the legal sense, of course, no, Harley was 23 years old, according to her file. But just in the way she held herself, like a teenager at the OBGYN for the first time. _God, what a terrible analogy, especially since I’m still going to hit on her._

Pam cleared her throat, regaining some semblance of Harley’s attention. “We’ll start with two oral swabs,” she explained, opening a cabinet at eye level to retrieve the necessary instruments. “Then move on to the blood-work and eventually urine. Open up,” she instructed, unwrapping the first of two swabs.

Harley obeyed, but in a shiftless manner, her mouth sort of lazing open.

Rolling her eyes, Pam took the woman’s jaw in her unoccupied hand, pressing firmly at the hinge points. “You’ll have to do better than that, Darling, I really haven’t the patience for coddling you through this process.” Harley got the message, her mouth opening quickly, jaw locking open. “Thank you,” Pam smiled, rubbing the first swab and then the second inside both cheeks, under her tongue, and along her gums.

Harley’s mouth shut immediately, like it was on springs, Pamela’s finger nearly caught between her teeth when she pulled away. Pam narrowed her eyes as she placed both swabs in the refrigerator, watching Harley massage where Pam’s hand had pressed. The redhead then pivoted, bending over to reach the syringes…and noticing that Harley was not watching her.

 _Huh_.

On a whim, she raised her chosen syringe in front of Harley’s face. “Focus on this for me.”

Harley blinked, just now registering the needle. “Uh, no thanks, Red, I don’t like needles.”

“I wasn’t asking,” Pam set her straight. “Try to focus on this, follow it with your eyes.”

With a slight cringe, Harley did what she was told. Or…attempted to, anyway. Her pupils bounced when they approached the edges of their range of motion.

Pam withdrew the syringe. “Did he have you take anything this morning?”

“Jus’ vitamins,” Harley mumbled.

“Right,” Pam was unconvinced and pulled the small flashlight out of her pocket to observe her pupils pinpoint--they did so at a languorous pace. After answering that question for herself, she wrapped Harley’s arm in the tunicate, taking her blood before Harley could protest and again placing it in the fridge.

The blonde seemed to know what was coming next when Pam grabbed the plastic-wrapped sample cup. “You don’t gotta watch me pee, right?”

“As a matter of fact, it’s a legal mandate that I do,” Pam’s tone was clip. “You’re not exactly acing this test, Harleen. And we don’t work on the honor system here. Bathroom is just there.” She indicated the closed door to her right.

Harley grumbled something inaudible as she slid off the exam table, waiting for Pam’s keycard to unlock the bathroom door and filing inside, Pam closing the door behind them. “Alright, but you don’t gotta watch me pull my pants down.”

Pam sighed. “Again, I do. You punch half naked women in the face for a living, why is urinating in front of a medical professional such a sticking point?”

The nervous foot tapping was back. “Sorry.” Her eyes drifted back to the floor.

OK, so maybe she wouldn’t be trying her luck with this one. Pam couldn’t think of a less sexy introduction.

“Just pee so we can both get on with our day,” Pam huffed, averting her eyes for a moment. Harley took the hint, sitting down quickly.

“Thanks, Red.”

/

“So!” Selina already had one eyebrow raised in question, Bruce’s expression much the same when Pamela entered his office. “How’d it go?”

“Terribly!” Pam exclaimed, lounging dramatically on Bruce’s couch. “She might not want to fuck me!”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Good God, Pamela.”

“I know!” she was still exasperated. “What a twist! She might, in fact, be a heterosexual.”

“Oh, that’s never stopped you before,” Selina encouraged.

“Selina, can we please…” Bruce trailed off with a sigh and a shake of his head. “How’d it go in your _medical_ opinion, Pamela?”

“Oh, medically?” Pam feigned realization. “She was high as a kite. Not exactly a great first impression. Pain meds, according to my preliminary findings. Won’t know which ones for another day or so.”

“Not illegal unless she doesn’t have a prescription,” Bruce pointed out, falling into that nasty habit of stating the obvious. “Everyone’s on opioids these days.”

“Yes, well, usually people with a prescription know what they’re taking,” Pam reasoned. “She said all she’d had today were ‘vitamins’, and she doesn’t strike me as a liar, just an idiot.”

Selina scoffed. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think, Pam? You’re just sour she didn’t fall in love with you on sight.”

“Love has nothing to do with it,” Pam assured her. “This girl and her Dollar Store Bobby Cannavale might be more trouble than they’re worth, is all I’m saying.”

Bruce laughed. “Bobby Cannavale? That’s a bit obscure for you—and you’re the one who vouched for her, don’t forget that.”

“I caught half an episode of Boardwalk Empire, leave me alone. And I didn’t ‘vouch’ for anyone,” Pam was on her feet again, arms crossed. “I suggested her. I’m woman enough to admit when I make a mistake.”

“No, you’re not,” Selina shut that down immediately. “Just let us know what the full test comes back with, OK?”

“Fine,” Pam acquiesced, already leaving.

“And G-Eazy is the Dollar Store Bobby Cannavale!” Bruce shouted after her.

“I know!” Pam yelled back as the glass door shut behind her. “I already made that joke!”

“To whom?” Selina projected her voice.

“Myself!”

/

_She keeps her Moet et Chandron  
In her pretty cabinet  
“Let them eat cake”, she says  
Just like Marie Antoinette  
  
_

Pam increased the speed on her treadmill for the final sprint, watching her heartrate spike on the readout in front of her.

_She’s a killer queen  
Gunpowder, gelatin  
Dynamite with a laser beam  
Guaranteed to blow your mind  
Anytime_

“Fuck,” she breathed out, allowing her strides to slow as the machine began her cooldown. As soon as she was down to a manageable pace, Pam took a swig of water and picked up her phone, checking for any texts or emails she’d missed during the last half hour.

There was only one, from Barbara, which Pam found marginally interesting…until she realized it was from her assistant Barbara, not her ex who now lived halfway across the world. “Whatever,” Pam mumbled, opening the message anyway.

Barbara Gordon: **Sorry to text you at home, but could you put me on the ticket list for the Kane v Quinzel fight? 2. My boyfriend’s a fan.**

Pam read the message curiously. Barbara very rarely asked for things from her, personal favors, especially. And to her knowledge, Barbara’s boyfriend was Bruce’s eldest son, meaning they always had tickets on hand.

 _Interesting_.

 **As soon as it’s been officially booked** , **sure.** Pam was feeling charitable, but she didn’t have enough interest in Barbara’s personal life to ask any follow up questions.

She stepped off the treadmill, wiping the machine down with a disinfectant spray and finishing the rest of her water bottle on her way to the kitchen.

Pam ate her dinner at the bar, picking distractedly at a salad as she scrolled, regrettably, through her past text conversations.

**Must be terrible, living inside your head. Couldn’t possibly be as bad as living with you, though.**

She stabbed down with her fork, only coming up with one measly piece of lettuce and a sliver of beet despite her violence.

**I hope one of your precious cheetahs mauls you to death.**

Pam cringed reading her response. _A bit much, Pamela._

With a groan, she locked her phone, tossing it away from her on the counter and getting up to pour herself a glass of wine.

/

Bruce flipped to the next page, then back to the first. “So just the morphine, then?”

“Plus the Oxy and fucking Fentanyl!”

Selina looked disappointed in the corner. “No cocaine?”

“Nope, there’s a little of that too,” Pam assured. “That coach—or manager—or whatever the hell, he’s going to kill this girl.”

“Well, talk to him about it,” Bruce suggested, closing the cover page and setting Pam’s report down on his desk. “The Fentanyl is certainly unnecessary.”

Selina shrugged. “Either he takes her off it or there’s no contract, simple as that.”

“And it’s my responsibility to mandate that?” Pam scoffed.

“Um, yeah,” Selina almost didn’t seem to understand the question. “Of course it is. Why do you think we pay you your ungodly salary? Have Barbara amend the contract with that stipulation and bring it out to them.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs are Danger by Jucee Froot and Beast by Rob Bailey (the Southpaw remix)

Pam pulled into a parking space that she hoped wasn’t hiding any nails or broken glass, she just couldn’t be sure in this neighborhood.

She hesitated a moment before leaving the safety of her vehicle, double checking the address against the banner reading “The Asylum” strung haphazardly across the awning. This was the place.

With a deep breath, she popped her door open, grabbing her umbrella from the passenger seat to shield both she and her briefcase from the drizzle that had refused to subside for two days now.

Pamela was trying not to judge a book by its cover, but this place looked like a dump.

The first thing she noticed upon entering was the smell. There was mold present, it didn’t take a PhD to figure that out, and a lot of…man sweat.

_Ew._

There was no front desk/reception area, once you were inside you were essentially standing in the middle of the weight room, surrounded by free weights and looking at a collection of heavy bags and a dimly lit, roped in platform Pam was guessing passed as a ring here.

That’s where she found Harley, in spandex shorts and a sports bra, sweat pouring down her face as she unabashedly whaled on an unfortunate man in a padded suit. Jared was standing on the opposite side of the ring, watching and nodding every so often, his wiry arms crossed over his chest.

“Excuse me!” Pamela announced her arrival…though no one seemed to be able to hear her over the blaring music that made her want to stab through her temporal lobe with a screwdriver. “You should have been expecting me!” she tried again, to no avail. “That’s it…” she raised her fingers to her lips and whistled, long and loud, finally causing Jared to look in her direction.

Pam watched his mouth form the words “This bitch again” before starting over to her, first jumping the rope and then off the platform. Harley didn’t stop, though. In fact, she now had the man on his back, standing over him and beating her glove into his face.

_Charming._

“Aye, Lenny, cut the music!” Jared shouted at the sweat suit clad man sitting nearest the sound system. But just like with Pam, he went unheard. “Hey! You stupid fuck!” he picked up a 5lb dumbbell and threw it in the man’s direction, narrowly missing his knee.

Lenny got the message that time, scrambling to shut the music off and leaving them with only the sounds of the violent beating Harley was delivering.

“The illustrious whatever-her-name-is graces us with her presence,” Jared bowed in front of her, his grin nefarious and self-indulgent. “Have you brought us our money?”

Pam sincerely wished, now more than ever, that murder was even in the realm of legal. “Her base pay is delivered the day of the match and her ticket revenue bonus is paid upon completion of the match; I know I heard Selina explain that to you. Is there somewhere we can sit down?” She wanted to move this along as quickly as possible as she could already feel herself taking on the smell of this hellhole. “There are a few stipulations I need to go over before I can let you sign.”

“And what might those be?”

“Why don’t you find us a table so I can tell you?” Pam snapped. She had little tolerance for men—as in the entire sub-genre of human being—but this man she’d developed a special level of hatred for, and it had only taken her two conversations to accrue that.

“If you insist,” he acquiesced, then turned around to address Harley. “He bleeding yet?”

“Not—yet—Mistah J,” she grunted in response between punches.

Pam was certain they misunderstood the purpose of padding ones sparring partner.

“Well don’t stop on our account, then,” he told her, that stomach turning grin still plastered on his face. Pam didn’t like when it was aimed at her, but also found herself feeling oddly repulsed for Harley. “Let’s go, Dollface,” Jared waved Pam over to the folding table and chairs Lenny had been sitting at. He now appeared to have vacated the premises.

Pam did a quick wipe of the seat with the sleeve of her overcoat before taking it off and laying it over the backrest so she wouldn’t have to touch the undoubtably dirty surface with her cream blouse. She really didn’t want to be forced into dry cleaning it.

Opening the briefcase with her thumbs, the metal fasteners springing away from their latches, Pam retrieved the thick contract, placing it on the table between she and Jared. He took it greedily, flipping through the pages quicker than he could possibly read.

“Everything looks in order,” he announced. “So long as the 15% plus bonus is guaranteed and the 5 fights.”

“That’s all in there,” Pam assured as she reached for the manila envelope the contract had been obscuring. “But we do have an important condition.”

Jared was already unimpressed. “Do tell.”

Pam retrieved her report from inside the envelope, handing it to Jared. “These are the findings from the tox screen I ran on Harley. There were multiple substances that jumped out as alarming, but this here?” she indicated the line detailing the fentanyl results. “Is an absolute nonstarter.”

“I have no idea about that,” Jared was indignant. “I can’t control everything that girl puts into her body, believe me.”

“Bullshit,” Pam was frank. “She’s an overdose waiting to happen, and my colleagues and I have no interest in having to answer for it. Either you take her off it or she stays underground.”

Jared scoffed. “She’s in pain. What, am I supposed to let her suffer?”

“She’s only in this degree of pain because you’ve clearly been running her into the ground for the last two years,” Pam snapped. “I haven’t the patience for abusive men piggy backing off a woman’s success. Get her on a more sustainable pain management regimen or find her a different league.” She held out the pen to him. “I’ll be testing her again before the match, if she comes back positive your contract will be terminated, have I made myself clear?”

/

Pamela stood in the skybox overlooking the arena, her arms crossed as she watched the fans file in and the technical staff finish their set up.

In all honesty, the fights were her least favorite part of this job and she seldom attended. Or when she did, it was usually more open bar inspired than anything.

It’s not that she was offended by the violence, more just the atmosphere, the cheers and jeers, the rank smell of concessions that still hung heavy in the air long after the arena had emptied… it was beneath her, frankly.

This fight felt a bit different, for one, Bruce and Selina had both referred to it as an “experiment”, one that Pam’s name had become attached to. She’d scouted a bit outside the box for this one, and so their trust in her was directly tied to this going over well. Of course, that was all just semantics, Pamela was a vital aspect of this organization and she wasn’t concerned in the least about a disaster losing her standing… but she still had a vested interest.

Selina was approaching now, a spiced pear bellini in one hand and her signature gin martini in the other, looking rather elegant in her black trousers and turtleneck. “This should be interesting,” she remarked, handing the bellini to Pam and taking a sip of her own drink.

Pam nodded in agreement. “I was surprised she passed.”

“No, I meant you drinking a cocktail meant for brunch,” Selina set her straight. “You and your fruit, Pamela, I swear.”

Pam chuckled. “Cheers.”

The technical staff was gone now and most of the seats were full, the lights in the arena beginning to dim slightly. That’s when the door to the skybox opened and Pam looked over her shoulder to see Renee Montoya enter.

_Shit._

Pam’s attention snapped back to what was playing out below her, but it was too late, she’d been noticed.

“Hello, Pamela,” Renee greeted immediately. “You’re looking whoreish.”

_Well, that answers that._

“And you’re looking wealthy,” was Pam’s response. “Was the badge truly necessary?” she referred to the shiny piece of metal stating she was a GCPD detective that Renee was still displaying proudly on her belt.

“Absolutely,” Renee made a b-line for the bar. “Give me alcohol.”

Selina chuckled. “This is more interesting than your inappropriate brunch thing.”

Pam was beginning to regret her attendance.

“Everything ready to go?” Bruce had somehow materialized beside Selina. “Bets placed?”

“Mhm,” Selina acknowledged him with a subtle nod. “Quinzel will go down in the 3rd.”

“And everyone’s on board?”

“Jared will play ball.”

“Good.”

Then suddenly, the overhead lights cut out, replaced by various roaming spotlights that sent the crowd into a frenzy when paired with the announcer’s voice over the loudspeaker.

“ARE YOU READY, GOTHAM CITY???”

He received a volley of screams in return.

“I SAID, ARE YOU READY???”

The response volume somehow increased.

“WE’VE GOT SOMETHING SPECIAL COOKING FOR YOU TONIGHT, FOLKS. THIS IS THE ONE TO KICK IT ALL OFF. PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR YOUR DEFENDING SUPER LIGHTWEIGHT CHAMPION, THE BATWOMAN HERSELF, MISS KATE KANE!!!”

The arena erupted as the spotlights focused on Kate’s tunnel, her music blaring as she emerged wearing her black satin robe, one wrapped hand raised in acknowledgment.

_Danger, danger_

_Danger, danger_

_Ring the alarm,_

_It’s an all-girls party and no boys can come_

She stepped into the light, striding calmly, confidently up the walkway. Commanding. Completely in charge of her domain.

_Stay outta my way_

_I whip on foreign highways_

_Heart cold like the ice age_

_Don’t look at me sideways_

Kate made her way into the ring, turning a full 180 to acknowledge her fans before pulling her hood off and handing her robe to someone on her team.

“She looks good,” Pam remarked, to no one in particular.

“Fuck you,” Renee shouted from somewhere behind her.

The music quieted as Kate took her seat on the stool in her corner.

“AND IF YOU WOULD PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR OUR NEWCOMER, OUR CHALLENGER THIS EVENING—HARLEEN QUINZEL!!!”

The applause that followed sounded a bit…different, to Pam. Though she couldn’t hear any discernable booing, it certainly sounded angrier than what Kate had received.

The lights shifted to her tunnel and Pam caught sight of Harley swaying slightly in the shadows.

_When the sun rises_

_I wake up and chase my dreams_

_I won’t regret when the sun sets_

_‘Cause I live my life like I’m a beast_

Harley took a step into the light and ripped her hood off, revealing her signature pigtails—though they’d now been dyed red and blue at the tips—and white face paint. However, she’d added red smile that looked like it’d been drawn on with lipstick stretching sloppily from her lips to her ears for the occasion.

_I’m a motherfucking beast_

Pam felt Bruce tense beside her.

_Ayo back to make you run around the game like it’s a fire_

_I spit acid bitch like I got cyanide in my saliva_

_Watch me wet and heat shit up like I’m a washer and a dryer_

_While I beat you in your head until you tire_

Harley tossed her red robe into the crowd, half of the audience stomping their feet and clapping their hands as she spit what looked like a mouthful of blood onto the walkway in front of her, the excess dripping down her chin.

_I suggest you bow to let your chick eat my salami slow_

“Christ, we have to censor this whole thing!” Bruce complained. “Who the hell approved the song choice?”

“Not my job,” Selina skirted the blame.

“And the blood capsules?”

Pam watched on the jumbotron as Harley punched herself in the jaw before grabbing the ropes and yanking herself into the ring, pounding the floor like a gorilla.

“You sure it’s capsules?” Pam wasn't sure whether to feel concerned or turned on.

“Well, this is a disaster already,” Bruce decided.

_I’M A MOTHERFUCKING BEAST_

The music (mercifully) cut after that, but the cheering remained. It seemed Pam was right about Harley’s fanbase, they’d certainly come out in force tonight, and they were eating up every bit of her routine.

The jumbotron flipped to Kate’s expression, and Pam watched the other redhead roll her eyes.

The two athletes met in the center of the ring, the referee forcing them to touch gloves. Harley blew a kiss Kate’s way as they retreated to their respective corners for a final meeting with their coaches.

“Where’d you find this one, Pamela?” Renee was watching this all play out with the same intrigued/concerned expression Pam hadn’t realized she was sporting. “Arkham Asylum?”

“More or less,” Pam admitted, finishing her drink and deciding it was probably best she order another one.

“Let’s have a clean fight tonight, OK ladies?” The referee was saying. Then a bell dinged, and the match had begun.

Kate would start with defense; Pam had watched enough of her fights to know that by now. She liked to use a large portion of the first round to observe her opponent and look for weaknesses she could exploit later once they’d tired themselves out a bit.

Harley would do the exact opposite. Just as that thought crossed Pam’s mind, Harley (predictably) went on the offensive, approaching quickly and throwing a jab, which Kate easily blocked with her gloves.

The blonde moved backwards a foot or two, both athletes bouncing, making small adjustments with their feet to put themselves in better striking position.

Harley tried another jab, but this time paired it with a hook that Kate ducked to avoid. Again, they separated to size each other up.

Kate probed a quick jab/cross combo and caught Harley’s shoulder, but Harley retaliated with a surprising uppercut that landed just below Kate’s ribcage.

Renee cleared her throat uncomfortably.

That was really the only meaningful blow Harley landed in the first round, however, and the 2nd was much of the same—Harley attacking, Kate avoiding and defending.

Then came the 3rd, which Pam knew was supposed to be the last.

Kate quickly became more aggressive, encroaching relentlessly on Harley as the blonde backed up, coming close to the ropes more than once. Her jabs were aimed at Harley’s face, although she was doing a decent job at blocking them until Kate added a vicious hook/uppercut/cross combination that the blonde simply wasn’t prepared for.

The cross ended up being the most damaging, one hard blow sending Harley to her knees, blood now spurting out of the girl’s nose. And thus began the eight count.

Pam was ready to pack up and go home. That was supposed to be it. But to her surprise, Harley stood after 5.

She glanced over at Selina, who blinked in surprise.

“Selina, I thought you said—,”

“Not now, Bruce,” she snapped, not even glancing in his direction, her eyes still trained intently on the contest below her.

Harley had now lost any semblance of control or patience she’d exhibited in the first two rounds, her punches both powerful and angry now, it seemed. Kate was back on the defensive, taking body shot after body shot to protect her head and face.

The round expired with Kate in the ropes, and Selina went deathly silent, appearing to suspend her breathing, her body rigid.

“What just happened?” Bruce asked, though the question was more out of disbelief than genuine interest.

“Insubordination,” the brunette growled.

Kate was pissed when the 4th round started; Pam could tell. And when the blonde wound up for what looked like a knockout punch, Kate seized the moment and used Harley’s momentarily exposed position to land a hook to her temple, sending the younger woman crumpling to the ground, bypassing her knees this time and landing flat on her face.

1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8.

The crowd erupted in cheers, but the skybox remained silent. The damage had been done and Selina was livid.


	5. Chapter 5

"Selina!" Pam had to jog to keep up with the other woman’s rage fueled pace. "Selina, hold on. Let's figure out a game plan here." 

"My game plan is those degenerates lost me a hundred and fifty thousand dollars and they're done," Selina shouted over her shoulder, continuing her warpath down to the locker rooms. 

Pam had to swerve to avoid a security guard, the combined sound of she and Selina's heels thunderous in the hallway. "Selina, come on, you and I both know this is on her piece of shit manager. The crowd loved her! I think she could be a val--," 

"Pamela," Selina stopped and whipped around to face her. "I need you to be thinking with your head right now, not your clit. She's a liability who clearly can't follow even the simplest of instructions." 

"First off, fuck you," Pam shot back, raising a finger to poke Selina hard in the chest. "It's easy to see who's pulling the strings if you'd spent more than 5 minutes in a room with them. With a different coach I'm sure Harley could be exactly what we need her to be, but you have to stop making rash decisions based on what's in your bank account." 

Selina looked beside herself. "This is a business, Pamela! Of course my decisions are guided by my fucking bank account! That's how this works!" 

"Well then look at the long term!" Pam threw her hands up. "She's 23 years old! This is an investment in the future! Kate's not going to be our shining star forever, I can promise you that, and this girl filled half the goddamn arena for her debut match! She made you more money tonight just because of that then you would have made off that bet." 

Setting her jaw, Selina glared at Pam, her expression angrier than her usual cold and calculating. 

Pam took that as an invitation to continue talking. "That contract was carefully worded not to include Jared in any legally binding capacity. Harley is our employee, not him." 

Selina's eyes narrowed and she was silent for a long moment, Pam's heart quickening slightly under her scrutiny. Eventually, she spun on her heels once more, continuing onto the locker room and leaving Pam standing in the hallway. 

She got to enjoy a momentary respite before someone else was yelling at her. 

"What the fuck, Isley?! That bitch just lost me my bonus!" Kate had exited the press room, wisely waiting for the door to close behind her before making a scene. 

"Christ," Pam turned. "Katherine Kane, I wear many hats for this organization, but payroll isn't one of them. Selina is dealing with it." 

"Yeah, I'm sure she has my best interest in mind," Kate scoffed. 

"Of course I find you two together," a third angry woman joined the party, Renee's voice echoing down the now busy hallway. 

Kate said, "Let's talk about this at home" at the same time as Pam said, "Can we not do this right now?" 

"Fine," Renee responded...to both of them. "But what happened out there?" 

Pam couldn't go through this again. "You guys will be fine. One lost bonus isn't going to put your gratuitous mansion into foreclosure. Harley's experiencing a bit of a learning curve, it seems." 

"OK, well, tell her to speed up her process," Kate made sure her discontent was painfully obvious. "The rest of us play by the rules, she's not special." 

“Great,” Pam acknowledged. “Are we done here?”

Kate rolled her eyes, slinging her duffle bag over her shoulder and sliding her sunglasses on (despite it being 10pm by this point). “Let’s go, Renee.”

Renee followed, but not before flipping Pamela off.

 _What a night this has been._ Pam felt somehow both exhausted and relieved. The exhaustion  
made sense, but the relief? Not so much. Maybe it was because she and Kate’s affair was now painfully obvious to all affected parties. OK, ‘affair’ sounded a bit romantic. ‘Extracurricular activities’ seemed a more accurate description. Again, Pam hadn’t felt guilty, per say, but she did respect Renee, so…maybe that was it. Who knows, Really? Pamela certainly wasn’t a psychologist.

She started for the exit, deciding it was time to get home. Whatever fallout remained could wait until the morning.

But the morning came considerably sooner than Pam expected.

She’d set her alarm for 7am like every morning, but the incessant beeping that woke her was not the alarm on her phone, but rather the motion alarm connected to her front porch sensors, and it was 3am, not 7.

Pam reached, bleary eyed, for her cellphone, pulling up the security app and blinking at the video feed.

There was certainly someone out there, but they were wearing a hood that obscured their face thanks to the shadow her porch light was casting. Pam watched as the figure bounced nervously from foot to foot and reached a tentative hand up to ring her doorbell. Pam switched her view to the doorbell camera, which gave her an unobstructed view at the possible intruder.

“What in the world?” Pam said aloud to her empty bedroom, sitting up quickly and slipping into the warm slippers she had ready by her bedside. On the way out, she grabbed her house robe, cinching it tightly around her waist to cover her silk chemise.

She turned lights on as she went, her sleep addled mind thinking it would be wise to make it appear like she wasn’t at home alone with only her plants.

With her hand on the deadbolt, she paused for a beat before unlocking it, running through a few possible explanations and scenarios, before finally pulling the door open to reveal Harley on the porch.

Pam looked past her to the street, scanning the upscale residential neighborhood for a car she didn’t recognize, thinking maybe Jared was lurking somewhere in the darkness…but the street was empty. It was just she and Harley here.

“What do you want?” Pam asked, none too kindly, pushing away her odd sense of panic.

Harley winced at the greeting, her gaze immediately dropping down to her feet. “Uh…Selina fired Mistah J, and I…well…he dumped me out on the street.”

Pam’s attention fell to overnight bag Harley was holding. “That’s…awful,” she admitted. “But certainly not my problem. How do you know where I live?”

“Well, I—I’m so sorry,” the young woman was clearly embarrassed. “I went to Selina first but she told me I was your charity case now. She said she’d tell you I was comin’.”

“She most certainly failed to do that,” Pam let her know, catching sight of something when Harley’s shoulders drooped. “Take that hood off.”

Harley didn’t need to be told twice this time, and obeyed, pulling her hood away from her face to reveal a gash running along the line of her cheekbone, an injury Pam didn’t recognize from the fight with Kate. The blood had dried some, but the wound was still open.

The blonde shook her head, knowing exactly what Pam was studying. “It just stings a little.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Pam opened the door wider, stepping back from the threshold to allow her in. “Come on, let’s get that closed up.”

Harley grinned at that—perhaps the first outward display of happiness Pam had seen from her—though the movement seemed to pain her as she accepted the invitation, stepping into the foyer with her bag held tight to her side.

“Follow me,” Pam instructed, leading her up the stairs and into the open kitchen. “Sit.”

Again, Harley did as she was told, pulling her bag onto her lap as she sat on a stool at the bar. “This’s a real nice place, Red,” she remarked, almost sheepishly.

“Yes, I know.” Pam left the kitchen for the bathroom, kneeling to grab one of her first aid kits from under the sink before returning. “Has it been cleaned yet?”

Harley shook her head and so Pam retrieved an alcohol swab from her kit, wiping the skin around the wound before dabbing the wound itself with a separate swab. The blonde had no reaction to any of this.

“Are you high right now?”

Harley shrugged. “Probably.”

“How’d you get here?”

“I walked.”

“I’m an awful long way from Selina’s.”

“It’s OK. Nobody’s gonna mess with me.”

Pam closed the wound with three butterfly bandages which pulled the skin taut and sealed it together. “I know this isn’t from Kate.”

Harley confirmed that with a shake of her head.

“What happened?”

“Mistah J said, since he couldn’t be my coach anymore, he’d teach me one last lesson…He forgot to put his gloves on first.”

“ _Forgot_. Right,” Pam closed the lid on the first aid kit, stepping back slightly to admire her handiwork. “And you were living with him?”

“Well, he was—uh—kinda my boyfriend,” Harley admitted.

_Gross_. “Seems he wasn’t good for you in any capacity, then,” Pam decided. “You can have the couch for the night, I’ll make it up. I would put you in a guest room, but I converted one to a gym and the other to an office. No matter what, I want it clear this isn’t a boarding house.”

Harley looked like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. “Yes, ma’am.”

In the morning, after Pamela had already taken her shower, applied her makeup and blow-dried her hair, Harley was still sound asleep on the couch upstairs—one leg flung over the side, foot planted on the ground, an arm over her eyes and the other one tucked awkwardly under her body.

Pam watched her from the kitchen island as she drank her coffee. _What an odd creature_. The bandages had done their job holding her face wound together, though Pam could see the beginnings of a matching pair of black eyes—one likely from Kate and the other from Jared—forming. Pam had some very expensive face cream that could speed up that healing process a bit. Harley would need it if Selina was planning on having her do interviews before her next fight. People loved watching the pain be inflicted on these athletes but tended to find the aftermath off putting.

When Pam rose to rinse out her coffee cup, she also filled a glass with cold water, reaching into the cabinet near the sink to grab her bottle of ibuprofen and crossing the kitchen and living room to place both items on the coffee table within Harley’s reach.

Silently, she turned, heading back to where her blazer and purse were waiting, but before she could make it there, something caught her eye. It was Harley’s overnight bag sitting by the side of the couch, the one the blonde had held so closely to her chest last night. Pam supposed whatever that bag contained was all she’d had time to grab when Jared kicked her out. Curiosity got the better of her and Pam leaned down to pick the bag up, zipping it open at the top, wondering what Harley deemed ‘necessities.’

Pam blinked at the answer. There was literally nothing in the bag but her sweaty hand wraps, boxing gloves and a loose tube of red lipstick.

“Christ,” Pam zipped the bag back up and dropped it where she’d found it. _This girl really is a charity case_. She grabbed her blazer and purse and wrote a quick note on the screen of her refrigerator before taking one last look around, committing the placement of all her expensive items to memory so she’d recognize if anything was missing when she returned.

_I’m at the office. I left you some ibuprofen and water. You can leave the sheets as they are, feel free to take a shower, towels are on the rack. Call a cab if you need a ride, Selina should have wired you the money for the fight already. 609-555-0900 is my phone number if you have any questions._

_-Pamela_


	6. Chapter 6

Pamela burst into Selina’s office. “Well that was a wonderful fucking surprise at 3am.”

Selina looked up to greet her, her demeanor calm, a stark contrast to Pam’s. “Yes, I thought you might like that. Dinah and I were just discussing Harley’s next match, if you’d like to join.” She referred to the woman sitting in the chair before her desk. 

“Good morning, Dinah,” Pam acknowledged as she tossed her briefcase onto Selina’s couch. “Excuse my interruption, it’s just Selina sent a homeless drug addict to my house at 3am and I wanted to make sure my displeasure was on record.” 

“Noted,” Selina granted. “Now sit, this is a place of work.” 

Pam rolled her eyes so hard she worried they might get stuck, and then plopped down into the empty chair beside Dinah. 

“We’re giving Canary a redemption arc,” Selina explained. “I want this season’s title fight to be a rematch between she and Kate, and I want Dinah here to get her revenge.” 

Pam glanced over at the fair-featured, dark-skinned blonde to see her sporting a satisfied smile. 

“Bout damn time,” Dinah sat back, arms crossed. “So I’m taking this Harley chick down in the first, right?” 

“Shouldn’t be hard,” Selina told her. “She doesn’t even have a coach right now.” 

“Yeah, what’s her deal, anyway?” Dinah wondered. “She seemed really out of it last night in the locker room. You guys test her and all that?” 

Selina was curt, “Pam’s dealing with it, and since they’re living together now, she’ll have plenty of hands-on supervision.” 

“Wait a minute,” Pam intervened. “This living arrangement thing is by no means permanent.” 

“Hey now, you’re the one who lobbied to keep her around,” Selina reminded her. “She’s homeless, I won’t have one of my athletes sleeping on the street.” 

“Plus, she’s kinda your type, right, Doc?” Dinah joked. “This way, the only home you’ll be wrecking is your own.” 

Pam stood, telling the blonde, “I’m failing your drug test.” 

Selina chuckled at that but stopped her before she could leave the office. “Hey, Pam? Don’t bother telling Harley the plan. We’ll just let her get her ass kicked, understood?” 

“Whatever you want, asshole.” 

Barbara caught up with her in the hallway, the younger woman jogging to keep pace. “Dr. Isley! Here’s Harley’s keycard for our in-house facilities, Selina said you could give it to her.” She transferred her padfolio to her other hand so she could make a clean track-style baton pass with the keycard. 

“I’m sure she did,” Pam accepted the card without looking, slipping it into her pocket as she headed back towards her office. “What did you think of the fight?” 

“Oh, it was--yes, thank you,” Barbara stammered in response. 

Pam slowed, allowing Barbara to catch up, their strides synchronizing as they headed for their department’s portion of the top floor. “Did you and Dick have a falling out?” 

Barbara seemed entirely taken aback, not like she was offended by the inquiry, more just surprised she’d been asked a personal question. “We, uh--yes. Yeah, we broke up,” she admitted, holding her head high. “It was mutual, I guess. Never let a man dictate your time, right?” 

“That’s right,” Pam smiled, pride suddenly warming her heart. “So who was the other ticket for, then?” 

“Oh, my new boyfriend,” Barbara grinned. “He’s a really great guy, you’d like him.”

Pam sighed internally. “I’m sure.” 

/

The lights were on when Pamela returned home that evening, which, although odd, wasn’t something she felt she needed to pay special attention to until she was inside. 

Her house, which usually smelled like her various flowers and the lemon disinfectant spray she used, now reeked of the unmistakable stench Pam associated with a very greasy pizza.

She walked gingerly up her own stairs, the smell becoming stronger with each step until Pam found herself in the kitchen, looking at an empty, open pizza box, the cardboard stained with grease. Alongside it was a half empty 2 liter bottle of Pibb Xtra. 

“Awesome,” Pam said aloud, setting her purse on one of the bar stools and sighing dramatically. It seemed she was finally getting a dose of what she’d escaped college without having to experience, being that her parents had rented her a townhome off campus so she wouldn’t have to live in the dorms. 

Of course, they’d likely thought that separating Pamela from her peers would be a good way of stopping any ‘experimentation’…but, in reality, all they’d done was give Pam an entire house to impress less fortunate girls with. 

Pam’s ear pricked up at the sound of a soft snore behind her, and she turned to see Harley in the exact same position she’d left her in that morning—though the water glass was now empty, and the pizza and soda were proof she had, at some point, been awake that day. 

Leaning against the counter, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed, Pam reviewed her options as to how to proceed. Harleen was not poor anymore. She’d just had at least 30 thousand dollars wire transferred into her bank account, but that wasn’t the point. Pamela very much doubted this girl had ever seen a lump sum of money like that all at once, and likely had zero idea how to spend it with any discernible intelligence. That’s why Selina wanted her to stay with Pam. 

Well, that, and Selina could be a manipulative dick who occasionally enjoyed orchestrating the suffering of others…or at least their emotional and social discomfort. 

Pam sighed once more, having arrived at a decision. She approached Harley quietly, slipping out of her heels as she went and kneeling beside the couch, shaking the younger woman gently awake. 

“Big day?” Pam asked, the question sardonic, as the blonde opened one blue eye and then the other. 

Harley blinked like the world was very slowly coming into focus. “Oh, hey,” was her elegant greeting, her girlish voice gravely with sleep. “I’m sorry I’m still in your house, Selina said—,”

“I know what Selina said,” Pam interrupted. “It’s fine for now. I see you already ate?” 

“Yeah, I’m—,” she sat up with a grunt, her body creaking and popping. “I’m sorry, I almost saved you a piece, but you don’t look like you eat pizza and I got hungry.” 

OK, well, that was true…Pam supposed she should give her points for being perceptive. 

“No apology necessary,” Pam excused her. “I’ve got plenty of food in the fridge. I can make double if you’re still hungry.”

Harley held her head in her hands, her elbows supported by her knees. “No thanks. I puked all that crap up anyway.” 

Ah, yes, Pam thought she might run into some withdrawal symptoms. 

“Have you been drinking water?” 

Harley shrugged. 

_ Good god, the shrugging has got to stop.  _

Without another word, Pam rose and poured a new glass of water from the sink, placing it on the kitchen island. “There. Drink it,” she instructed, opening the refrigerator to start on her dinner. She wasn’t looking when Harley got up, but she heard her pad across the living room and kitchen in her dirty socks, taking the water glass before returning to the couch. 

A silence stretched between them, punctuated by the soft ‘clink’s of Pam’s metal pots and pans bumping against each other where they hung above her island as she selected the right one for this meal. 

“I’m making salmon and asparagus,” she announced, setting said pan on the stove and preheating the oven. “I apologize in advance.” 

“Sounds fancy,” Harley said from the couch, unbothered. 

Another silence followed as Pam spread her asparagus spears across a cookie sheet, sprinkling them with olive oil and sea salt. 

“So, uh…” It was Harley who disturbed the quiet. “What did you do today?” 

Pam was nearly as surprised as Barbara had been about the causal question. “Oh, well, actually, I met with Selina about your next match.” 

“For real?” 

“Yes,” Pam chuckled. She wasn’t sure why she found that response funny. “It’ll be the first of next month. Selina has you lined up to fight Dinah Lance.” 

“Canary? You’re messin’ with me.”

“Why would I do that?” Pam asked, glancing over her shoulder to see Harley in something approaching a man-spread on the couch. “I have a Jacuzzi out back that rarely gets any use, I suggest you utilize it before you get back into training. You’re 23 years old, you shouldn’t sound like a 60 year old with arthritis when you sit up.” 

“That’s what the meds were for,” Harley mumbled, sinking back into the pillows. 

Pam chose to ignore that, grabbing the filet of salmon out of the fridge rather than engaging. “What did you do today?” she decided to turn the question around. 

Harley took a deep breath. “Slept...ate...puked...my usual Friday night.” 

“It’s Sunday.” 

“Oh,” Harley frowned. “Hey,” and then changed the subject. “How come you don’t have a heavy bag?” 

“What do you mean?”

“In your little gym downstairs,” Harley clarified. “How come you don’t have any boxing stuff down there?” 

“Because I don’t box,” was Pam’s simple answer. “Never been drawn to it.” 

“Oh, well, ya don’t gotta punch anybody if you don’t want to,” Harley leaned forward, engaged, explaining like maybe Pam hadn’t previously been aware of that fact. “You can use it just for cardio if you want, way more fun than runnin’ in place, if you ask me.” 

Pamela decided to humor her. “Thanks for the tip. Is that how you started? Just doing it for cardio?” 

Harley laughed like Pam had made a joke on purpose. “Nah, I was really angry, that’s why I started.” She grinned at Pam, who found the expression both endearing and a little disquieting.

...and that’s evidently all Harley had to say on that topic. 

“Here,” Pam offered, reaching into her pocket for the keycard Barbara had given her earlier. “I may not have a heavy bag, but there are plenty at the complex. This gives you 24/hr access, you’re welcome to use the facilities any time.” 

The blonde took the card like she’d received a divine gift from on high. “Seriously? I get to train with the pros?”

“Harley,” Pam chuckled, closing the other woman’s hand around the keycard. “You’re a professional boxer now, you do realize that, yes?” 

“No, I…” she retracted her hand, pale complexion blushing red. “I get that. They’re just my heroes, is all.”

/

When Pam awoke the next morning, she expected to find Harley on the couch, curled up with her head resting on the pillow that was really more for decoration than comfort. 

But the couch was empty, Harley wasn’t there. Her bag was, though, and even in the short time Pam had known her, she’d come to understand that Harley didn’t go anywhere important without those discount bin Title gloves of hers. 

Puzzled, Pam glanced down the hall, trying to determine if there was a light on in the bathroom. There wasn’t. The hallway was dark. It’s not that Pam was concerned, no, Harley was a grown woman who could be wherever she wanted at 7am, it was just...well...Pam had a lot of evidence showing Harley was likely suffering from a few too many head injuries, and--

She turned at the sound of a splash, her eyes trailing through her kitchen, out the bi-fold doors and onto her patio...where she noticed the cover had been flipped off her in-ground Jacuzzi and a blonde head poked out of the bubbling water. 

Harley was splashing with both arms in front of her, miming a doggy paddle that seemed to absolutely delight her. 

She cringed as she watched Harley take a big mouthful of warm water and spit it out like she was a fountain. 

Pam shook her head, already disappointed in herself. “Can’t believe I’m still going to fuck her,” she mumbled, starting the coffee machine. 


	7. Chapter 7

“—you’ll beat her, but Selina wants it to be a long one. Give the fans what they’re paying for.” 

“I don’t know,” Kate sat back on the couch, running a casual hand through her short hair. “She kinda creeps me out, I’d rather not let it last that long.” 

Pam subtly hiked her skirt up so she could more easily straddle Kate’s lap. “You know I don’t make the rules.”

“Ugh,” Kate closed her eyes with a sigh. “This season already feels fucked up.” 

“Tell me about it,” Pam agreed, leaning down to trail wet kisses down the other woman’s neck, tugging on her v-neck t-shirt to reveal more of her chest. “Selina’s already title-run pissed and--,” 

“Pamela, this is a bad idea,” Kate’s head lulled to the side, giving her some very mixed signals.

Pam chuckled, “Why?” she bit down playfully where Kate’s neck met her shoulder. “Because you got in trouble?”

“No…” Kate maneuvered her hands between them, creating a bit of space. “I was threatened. The only reason she agreed to stay is I promised I don’t actually care about you.”

Pam sat back on her heels. “Well, that’s sweet.” 

“No, come on, Pam. I’m serious.” Kate lifted her strong hands to squeeze Pam’s shoulders, the movement somewhere between comforting and awkward. “I gotta get my shit together a little and you’re not helping.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Pam moved quickly off of her, yanking her skirt back down and gathering her shoes. “Need I remind you this whole thing was your idea?”

“Right, and you wouldn’t let me fuck you until after you fell out of love with Barbara, remember?” 

“‘Fell out of love’ is a little dramatic,” Pam scoffed. 

Kate rolled her eyes. “Fine, whatever. Look, Pamela, I’m not going to have boxing forever, alright? I realize that. But I need to have Renee. When this is all over, she’s who I want to come home to.” 

“Congratulations,” Pam’s words dripped with satire. “You two should renew your fucking wedding vows.” 

Kate rose to follow her out as Pam stormed for the door. “I don’t understand why you’re being such a bitch about this! You’re the one who demanded all the no strings attached bullshit. It’s not like I’m breaking up with you.” 

“No,” Pam agreed. “You’re certainly not,” and with that, she slammed the door in Kate’s face. 

When Pam looked up from the spot on the wall she’d been staring at, it was 9pm and she was still at the office. 

“Shit,” she muttered, her eyes sliding closed as she massaged her temples. 

It wasn’t often Pam had days where she felt like she’d taken steps backwards rather than forwards...except for her entire career path, but that was a much more involved conversation. 

She glanced down at her phone, there was a missed call from Lillian Isley, one she wouldn’t be returning any time soon. Why would she add insult to injury? 

After another long moment of silence that, fortunately or unfortunately, wasn’t reflective in any way, shape or form, Pam took a deep breath and stood up. She didn’t feel like going home, probably because she knew she’d try to do something reckless with the 23 year old sleeping on her couch. So, instead, she grabbed her gym keycard out of her drawer, choosing a healthier coping mechanism, heading past Barbara’s empty desk towards the elevator and down to the locker rooms. 

She changed quickly into a pair of leggings, a long-sleeved shirt and a ballcap--an ensemble that made her look every bit the suburban housewife out for a vigorous walk with her book club that her mother wanted her to be. 

Pam was hoping the gym would be empty at this hour, but of course Damian Wayne was there on her preferred stair-climber. 

Damian was Bruce’s son, but not Selina’s. Well, legally he was Selina’s but not biologically. He was the product of a sort-of-affair Bruce had been involved in with the woman Kate would be taking on in her next fight. The boxing world was a very small one. 

He glanced back when Pam entered the room, marking his territory with a steely, “Move along, Isley.”

Pam was famously not a big Damian fan, and Damian famously wasn’t a fan of anyone. She really didn’t feel like dealing with his anger issues tonight, so she moved on, registering the repetitive sound of gloves on a heavy bag as she left the cardio and weight rooms for the boxer-designated training room. 

That’s when she saw Harley nodding along to the music blasting from her headphones, those familiar cheap boxing gloves creating the rhythm Pam was hearing. She was, predictably, wearing only a sports bra and compression leggings that did a lot to accentuate her ass because testing Pamela was evidently God’s favorite pastime. 

The redhead looked to the ceiling with a resigned sigh. “Why?” 

Harley noticed her then, her punching slowing to a stop and a smile spreading over her face. She took one glove off, and then an ear bud. “Hey, Red! Fancy seein’ you here.” 

_Alright, big guy, if this is what you want..._ “Hey…” Pam’s smile was slower than Harley’s, more reserved with just a hint of sultry. She’d perfected this smile long ago. “I was hoping I’d find you here.” 

Harley raised an eyebrow, her head tilting. “How come?” 

Pam approached her slowly, noticing how Harley’s eyes fell to her hips-- _too easy_. “Oh, I was just thinking about what you said the other night,” she played it casual. “About boxing being a good cardio workout. I was thinking, maybe, you could give me a tutorial? And then I could show you my favorite form of cardio.” 

“You wanna punch stuff with me?” Harley grinned. 

“Among other things,” Pam didn’t feel the need to wink, she figured she was already laying it on thick enough. 

“OK!” was Harley’s bright response. 

_Huh…_

“So…” Pam prompted. “How do you want me?”

That seemed to go over her head as well. 

“Well, you gotta square up first,” Harley explained, dropping her other glove and slipping her 2nd earbud into its case. “Like this,” she got into an athletic stance, raising her now wrapped hands to protect your face. 

Pam copied her, though her form (purposefully) left a little to be desired. “Like this?” 

“Not really,” Harley giggled. 

_That was cute._

“You gotta shake it out, Red,” the blonde coached. “Get loose!” She wiggled her arms playfully. 

This was not at all the Harley Pam had met in her office that first day. Pam hadn’t been sure exactly what to expect after Harley sobered up, but this wasn’t it. 

“And protect your face!” Harley was still critiquing, but after another lackadaisical show of participation by Pam, the blonde moved forward with a quick strike, hitting Pam in the nose with her wrapped fist. 

The room was silent for a moment after it happened, neither of them quite sure how to react. 

Finally, Pam’s hand shot up to cover her nose, feeling warm blood begin to drip from her nostril and over her lip. “Ow! What the fuck was that?!” 

Pam had never seen a human being flush a brighter shade of red. “I’m so sorry!” Harley was horrified at what she’d done. “I thought you were gonna block me!” 

“BLOCK you? I can’t--I don’t know how to box! You were going to teach me!” 

“Shit, I’m so sorry, here!” Harley rushed forward, roughly pinching Pam’s nose to stop the bleeding, but exacerbating her pain in the process. 

“Don’t do that! Jesus!” Pam pushed her away, holding her nose herself. “Who raised you?” 

“Oh, nobody, really,” Harley answered honestly. “My dad was a crook and my ma--,” 

“No, nope, stop,” Pam interrupted her. “The question was rhetorical.” 

Harley looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there. “I’m real sorry, Red, I didn’t mean it. Honest. 

“It’s fine,” Pam waved her off with the hand that wasn’t preoccupied stopping her nose bleed, though her tone made it clear it wasn’t fine. “Just, buy a girl a drink first, my God. I don’t know how it works here in Gotham, but where I’m from people at least have a bit of fun before the domestic abuse starts.” 

It seemed Harley registered very little of her meaning. 

Pam turned away, mumbling, “Whatever. I’ll just use an elliptical.” 

She was almost out the door before Harley stopped her. “Hey, wait!” the blonde jogged to catch up. “Let me make it up to you.” 

Pam was mildly interested, so she crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “How?” 

“Come to the Katana fight with me tomorrow night,” Harley said. “I’ll buy you a beer and a pretzel.” 

“I don’t ingest either of those substances and I have permanent skybox tickets.” 

Harley frowned. “Well, geez, you don’t gotta be so uppity about it.”

“You punched me in the face,” Pam felt the need to remind her. 

“Just come with me!” Harley insisted. “It’ll be fun, I promise! I’m a lot of fun.” 

It seemed Pam was unable to learn her lesson, so she took another go at it. “Prove it.” 

Harley clapped happily, not unlike a seal, again failing to register any innuendo. “Yay! Girl’s night!” 

_Oh no, what if she’s just a misguided straight girl with anger issues?_

/

Pam hadn’t realized how dire Harley’s wardrobe situation was until this very moment. It seemed the only article of clothing she owned that she didn’t train or compete in was a white t-shirt that said “I shaved my balls for this this” in big red letters across the front-- meaning she was either a frat boy or an ironic lesbian.

“You ready?” Harley asked, cheerily. 

Pamela was about to be seen in public with this woman. What a wonderful ‘fuck you’ that would be to her mother…

“Sure,” Pam intoned, locking the front door behind them. “Harley, do you not have access to your bank account?” 

“What do you mean?” Harley wondered, though she seemed distracted by the lack of a door handle on the passenger side of Pam’s Tesla. 

“I mean, why is it you haven’t done any shopping since Selina paid you?” Pam clarified, watching Harley’s eyes widen with amazement when the door handle popped out after the vehicle was unlocked. 

“Oh, Mistah J just hasn’t sent me my cash yet,” Harley explained, sitting down. “Or maybe I’ll have to pick it up, I don’t know.” 

To say Pam was confused would be an understatement. “Come again?” 

“Mistah J’s sorta my accountant too,” Harley said. “I’m not too good with money so he gives me spending cash after all my fights so I don’t have to bother with the accounts.” 

Pam shut herself in the car, her brow furrowed. “And how much did he say you’d be receiving for this fight?” 

“5 grand!” 

“Harley...Selina wire transferred 30 thousand dollars into your bank account after your fight with Kate. That’s a 25-thousand-dollar discrepancy.” 

It was taking Harley a minute to process this information. “30 grand?”

“Yes.” 

“He never told me that…” 

“And you didn’t look at the contract?”

“I don’t—I can’t remember. I was—” 

“High. Right. He made sure of that.” 

Harley stared down at her feet, still in disbelief, not quite to anger yet, but hopefully that would come. “You...you really think Mistah J would steal all that from me?” 

Pam laughed out loud at that. “Yes. But I think I know someone who can help. Let’s go watch some violence, maybe it’ll inspire us.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs are The Flute Song by Russ and Boss Bitch by Doja Cat

“—SHE’LL STEAL YOUR SOUL AND LEAVE YOU DEAD ON THE FLOOR, TATSUUUU YAMASHIRO!!!”

The crowd roared to life, nearly bursting Pam’s ear drums in the process. Her entrance song started with a flute solo, which Pam found relaxing…until the bass dropped.

_Everybody tryna get a rise out of me_

_Ex girls tryna get a ‘Hi’ out of me_

_I don’t talk back less you’re worthy_

_Hangin’ up plaques like jerseys_

Harley directed Pam’s attention to the jumbotron, clapping excitedly as they watched Tatsu calmly make her entrance, a very casual sword strapped to her back. Pam would never fully support the use of props for this clit measuring contest, but “Katana” was absolutely committed to hers.

_They ain’t upholding the code, the industry full of some hoes_

_They lettin’ like anything go_

_People are shady as fuck_

_I keep to myself, but I feel the energy, though_

“Wooooo!!!” Harley cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed.

“Are you a big Katana fan?” Pam tried to yell over the music.

“What?”

Pam yanked on Harley’s shoulder so she could yell, “ARE YOU A BIG KATANA FAN?” in her ear.

“I like everybody!” Harley shouted back, delighted.

_None of these people are friends to me, though_

_I don’t put anything past them_

_I don’t see none of y’all next to me, though_

_I think they mad that I passed them_

Pam supposed the song choice was appropriate. It was true that Tatsu showed little interest in league bonding experiences…or, at least, she wasn’t having an affair with anyone, so she wasn’t as inter-connected as all the rest.

Harley reached over the barrier as she passed, trying to get a high five. Naturally, Tatsu ignored her (she was clearly in whatever her version of “the zone” was), but Harley didn’t look all that disappointed at being ignored, so Pam didn’t expect this to be the origin story of any great rivalry.

Tatsu skillfully unsheathed her blade once she arrived in the ring, causing the volume in the arena to increase to nearly deafening levels.

Pamela decided she very much disliked watching this all from ground level. It was far too raucous for her taste.

“AND OUR CHALLENGER TONIGHT, OUR BABY BIRD OF BOXING, MISS STEPHANIE BROWN!”

In general, Pam took little interest in Stephanie because her tests always came back clean and Pam tended to pay more attention to problem children or women she wanted to have sex with. Stephanie was neither. But regardless, she hated that stupid tagline on her behalf. _Baby Bird of Boxing? The fuck does that even mean?_

Harley gave Stephanie’s announcement the same gleeful applause as Tatsu’s while Pam glanced down at the $15 beer Harley had bought her that she knew she wouldn’t drink.

_Yeah, ain’t tryna be cool like you_

_Wobblin’ around in your high-heeled shoes_

15…

That’s how many years older than Harley she just realized she was.

_I’m clumsy, made friends with the floor_

_Two for one, you know a bitch buy four_

It was then Pam had the epiphany that maybe she should start having sex with women her own age again. Or maybe just someone who could stimulate her mentally as well? And wasn’t married?

_I’m a bitch_

_I’m a boss_

_I’m a bitch and a boss, I’ma shine like gloss_

Then again, she’d tried that with Barbara, and look how that had turned out—now she had a weird homewrecker kink.

_Maybe I should try my assistant Barbara, she at least has a bachelor’s degree._

_…no, that’s a terrible idea, fucking one’s assistant is how one get shamed on twitter._

Harley was jumping up and down beside her at this point, and Stephanie did give her a high-five, which got Harley so pumped Pam was a little nervous she might catch another one of her fists. Pam didn’t think her delicate nose could take another hit.

Stephanie had the same spunky girl-next-door thing going that Harley did, though she was far more clean cut and certainly less feral in the ring. This was her second year competing in the big leagues and she’d spent most of her rookie season getting her ass kicked, so Pam hoped Selina had better things in store for her this year.

…but according to how this fight was already going, this year might be more of the same.

Pam cringed watching Stephanie take a painful-looking uppercut. From this distance, she could hear Tatsu’s glove connecting with the underside of her jaw.

“FINISH HER!” Harley shrieked.

Glancing at the blonde beside her, Pam again wondered what in the world she was doing here.

_It can’t possibly be that I have low self-esteem, can it? As far as I’m concerned, I’m the only person worth knowing. Maybe I have a sex addiction I wasn’t previously aware of?_

“Thanks for comin’ with me, Red,” Harley turned to whisper in her ear when the referee separated the boxers between rounds. “I’ve been feelin’ real lonely since I left Mistah J and you’re a good friend.”

Pam squinted, still reflecting on her motivation. _Maybe it’s the challenge that stimulates me?_

And then Harley was back on her feet, cheering the bell as it rang to signal the start of the 3rd round, and Pam’s attention wandered to Harley’s ass, which was now at eye level.

_…Or maybe it’s that._

Tatsu ended things in the 5th round with a nearly surgical body-head-body-cross jab combination. Once Tatsu’s cross slipped between Stephanie’s gloves, she did not stop her assault until the blonde had crumpled to the ground.

Pam made the wise decision to plug her ears before the celebration in the arena began.

/

“Barbara, could you come in here please?” Pamela took her finger off the intercom button, tapping her foot while she waited for her assistant to scurry into her office.

Barbara arrived in record time, padfolio in hand, as per usual. “Would you like a coffee, Dr. Isley?”

“Well, yes, but that’s not why I need you right now,” Pam explained. “But you know what? Why don’t you get me a coffee first and then we can talk.”

“Oh, OK, can do,” Barbara accepted her mission, exiting just as quickly as she’d entered.

Pam sat with a sigh, absently spreading her fingers out on the desk to examine her manicured nails. She could use a trim, but then again, based on how things were going with her new roommate she had no idea how long this dry spell was going to last, so perhaps the nails could wait.

Barbara returned in two minutes flat, setting Pam’s coffee triumphantly down in front of her. “There you are,” she smiled, wrapping both arms around her padfolio and holding it close to her chest. “What else can I do for you?”

“Well,” Pam sat back, giving Barbara a look over. “I need to ask a favor of you. One that…sort of rides the line between personal and professional.”

“Anything, Ma’am.”

“It’s recently come to my attention that Harleen Quinzel, who—as you know—is now temporarily living with me, had a large sum of money stolen from her by her former coach,” Pam began.

“Jared, right?” Barbara clarified. “The guy you and Selina had me write out of her contract?”

“That’s right,” Pam nodded. “Now, I’m clearly a very intelligent woman, but I do have some limitations when it comes to my understanding of the…digital realm.”

Barbara suddenly looked a little uncomfortable. “Do you—uh—Tinder is pretty easy to operate, if that’s what you’re—,”

“What? No!” Pam laughed, though it was somewhat forced. “I don’t need help from the internet in that department. I’m—don’t worry, I’m plenty fulfilled when it comes to—,”

“I wasn’t worried,” Barbara interjected. “I’m sure you—never mind, I’m sorry, what did you actually need my help with?”

“It appears Harley doesn’t have access to the supposedly joint bank account that we wired the money to,” Pam told her. “She needs her money so that I can get her into clothes that don’t smell like a dirty gym bag and eventually off of my couch.”

Barbara raised an eyebrow. “And why is it you want my help with this?”

“I remember your resume,” Pam said. “Didn’t you major in Computer Science or Programming or something at GSU?”

“I did…”

“Well, I’d rather not physically confront Jared to get the money back. I think it would be easier for everyone if we just sort of…took it, out of the account.”

“So…if we stole it, you mean? Like if I helped you hack his bank account?”

“It’s a joint account,” Pamela reminded her. “Harley has a legal claim to that money, a much better one than Jared, in fact. I just, you know…”

“Don’t want to rope the GCPD in?”

“Yes.”

“Because that’s where Renee works and she’s not going to give you the time of day because she found out you and Kate had a year-long affair?”

Pamela stood. “OK, hey, let me stop you right there. For one, ‘affair’ is a bit much, and two—how did you know about that?”

“I’m your assistant, Dr. Isley,” Barbara reminded her. “I literally scheduled your sex dates, and also, in general, I know everything because everyone in this place uses me as their personal errand girl.”

_Where in the world did this attitude come from?_

“—And,” Barbara was still talking. “Although you know a lot, you clearly have a terrible memory for personal anecdotes because I’m not sure you realize you just asked the Police Commissioner’s daughter to help you steal 30 thousand dollars.”

_Oh…right…_

“So…” Pam tried testing the waters. “In other words, you’re…not? Going to help us?”

“Oh, no, I’ll help you guys,” Barbara quickly assured her. “That Jared guy’s an asshole.”

Pam hoped her relief wasn’t too obvious. “Thank you. I hope you know that I—I do appreciate the work you do.”

It looked as if Barbara was trying to hide both the flush in her cheeks and a smile. “Sure, of course.”

/

“Harleen!” Pamela shouted up the stairs upon her arrival at home. She was moving quickly, quicker than she usually did, fueled by an odd excitement that likely had a lot to do with at least one aspect of this odd situation she found herself in being remedied—the smell. “Harley, I need you to get dressed in something without sweat stains and meet me in the car.”

She found the blonde doing the splits in the middle of her living room.

“Harley, why?” Pam’s words came out surprisingly upset. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh, hey, Red!” The blonde grinned up at her, unmoving. “I watched this Youtube video that recommended at least 30 minutes of stretchin’ per day based on my activity level. You know I’m tryna stay away from pain meds now, so—”

“OK, but can you just—I’d like to stop feeling like I live in the first 5 minutes of a porno, so can you just…close it up?”

Harley frowned, bending her leg to stand. “A porno?”

 _Woman, were you raised Amish?!_ Pam was very glad she managed to keep that in her head. 

Pam clapped once to motivate her. “Let’s go!”

“Where are we going?” Harley laughed.

“Shopping, go change.”

The blonde pouted, “Can’t I just go in this?”

“Whatever,” Pam was already headed back to the car. “I don’t have all night.”

Harley was hurriedly pulling on the cropped sweatshirt she called a coat. “Oh, hey! Some lady named Lillian called your old person phone today.”

“Please don’t refer to my landline as an ‘old person phone’.”

“Sorry,” Harley apologized, climbing into the passenger seat. “It’s just, I’ve only seen them in old people’s houses.”

“Yeah, no, I get it,” Pam pulled out of the driveway. “What did the message say?”

“Oh, no, I talked to her.”

“Harleen, please tell me you did not answer my landline when my mother called.”

“Um, oops,” Harley was embarrassed. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry. I thought maybe you were calling me because you didn’t have my cellphone number.”

“I do have your cellphone number.”

“Oh.”

Pam gripped the steering wheel tighter. “What did you and my mother talk about?”

“Nothin’ important,” Harley assured her. “She just asked who I was and why I was livin’ with you and answering your phone.”

“And you told her…?”

“That my name was Harley, that I’m a boxer like on TV and my boyfriend kicked me out, so you’re taking good care of me now,” she clearly thought that was exactly the answer Pam was hoping for.

“Perfect,” Pam groaned. This was not what she needed right now.

“She said I sounded real young,” Harley giggled. “Everyone always tells me that, I think it’s sweet.”

“It’s not,” Pam assured her as they pulled into the mall. “Did she tell you why she called in the first place?”

Harley shrugged. “Nope! Just that she wants a call back.”

“I’m sure she does…” Pam put the car into park, turning to Harley once the engine was off. “This is a debit card,” she handed her the brand-new piece of plastic from her purse. “In your checking account is the 30 grand from your fight with Kate, and we took 15 more for your savings account.”

Harley’s eyebrows shot up, blue eyes growing impossibly bigger. “You did what?”

“Barbara and I did some forensic accounting and found out he’s been running this con on your for quite some time,” Pam explained. “So…we took a little extra.”

“Pammy…”

_That’s a new one._

“You mean I got 30 grand to spend right now?” Harley’s mind was sufficiently blown.

“Oh, no, please don’t spend it all right now,” Pam was quick to make sure there wasn’t any miscommunication there. “But it is your money. Tonight I’d like you to buy at least 5 new outfits that are not meant to be worn to the gym, a couple new pairs of underwear and another sports bra or two. Oh, and socks. You desperately need another pair of socks.”

“I don’t—,” Harley looked like she might cry. “I don’t know what to say, Red. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to come up with something,” Pam smiled.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs are Experiment on Me by Halsey and and Feeling Good by Nina Simone (Bassnectar Remix)

“Listen, Mistah, I ain’t askin’. Either you give my friend her money back or I will crack your skull open on the pavement.” Harley was leaning over the counter, mere inches from the man’s face, her threat sounding very earnest.

Pamela stood behind her, arms crossed, watching the whole ordeal. “I told you I’d be back, remember?” She prompted; an extremely unimpressed eyebrow raised in the man’s direction. “I mean, you could always just return my skirt to me, but I have a feeling you either ruined it or lost it, so at this point I just want the money.”

Harley grabbed him by his shirt, yanking him halfway over the counter. “SHE JUST WANTS THE MONEY!”

“OK, Harley, thank you…”

“I will break your legs, motherfucker!”

“Harley, I think that’s—,”

“I will leave you for dead in a pool of your own blood and shit after I—,”

“OK! Harleen! Thank you!” Pam grabbed her by the shoulders, wrestling the man’s shirt away from her and separating the two. “It’s—that was a bit much.”

The drycleaner was scrambling to open his cash register. “Here!” He shoved $200 in Pam’s face. “Just take it and don’t come back here! Either of you!”

“Oh, well, actually this location is very convenient for me,” Pam explained, taking the money. “So I’d like to give you another chance, if you’re—,”

“Get out!” He screamed. “Your Karen ass and your psycho friend!”

Pam frowned. “That’s awfully rude of—,”

“I’ll use your guts like curtains!” Harley was charging back at him. Luckily, Pam caught her by the back of the shirt before she could reach him, dragging her out of the store.

“We can just go to the place down the street,” Pam assured him, yanking Harley outside and letting the door shut behind them.

The blonde wiggled free of her grip, dusting herself off. “Fuck that guy.”

“Indeed,” Pamela cleared her throat, trying to determine how to proceed. “I appreciate your help, but I wasn’t trying to get banned from doing my dry-cleaning here.”

Harley’s chest was still heaving with adrenaline. “You said he was your nemesis!”

“Yes, but in a superficial way,” Pam explained. “Like the barista who wrote ‘Horley’ on your hot chocolate this morning.”

“Oh, yeah,” the memory was flooding back to Harley now. “Let’s fuck her up next.”

“No! Nope,” Pam grabbed the other woman by the shoulders, gripping her tightly and attempting to maintain eye contact with Harley’s frantically shifting gaze. “I’m dropping you off at the gym so you can train, you’re not bringing this energy back into my home.”

“Fine!” Harley shouted, stomping towards the car and leaving Pam alone outside the drycleaners.

 _You know what_ … Pam thought, deciding she needed one more thing before leaving this guy alone. She opened the door, the man jumping at the sound of the “ding” as she poked her head back inside. “If I drive by this establishment tomorrow and don’t see a recycling bin outside, I’m going to bring her back in here.”

/

Selina was already waiting, cocktail in hand when Pamela entered the skybox. Bruce was there too, halfway through one of the gourmet burgers they charged fans $28 for.

“Pamela,” Bruce greeted her first, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “Is she ready?”

“To lose?” Pam asked, signaling for the bartender to get her whatever Selina was having. “I’m sure.”

“And her tests came back clean again?” Selina wondered absently, her focus never wavering from what was going on below them.

“I would hope so,” Pam thanked the waiter delivering her cocktail with a nod. “She’s been living in my house for the last month.”

Bruce sat up, his body language communicating genuine curiosity. “Yes, how’s that been going?”

“Well, it seems I’m re-claiming my virginity,” Pam told him…which clearly wasn’t the information he was hoping for. “Say, your marriage isn’t open at all, is it?”

“Absolutely not,” Bruce answered quickly.

“Then how is it Damian exists?” Selina asked, still not lifting her gaze from the set-up process.

“Selina, of all the things—,”

“Never mind,” Pam interrupted him. “Too much drama for me.”

Selina smirked as she finished her cocktail, finally turning to look at Pam. “I heard your affair with Kane is over with.”

“Why does everyone keep calling it that?” Pam was exasperated. “We enjoyed a mutually beneficial—,”

“Word on the street is she ended it,” Selina interjected.

“On what fucking street are you hearing that?” Pam demanded.

Selina shrugged, signaling for another drink. “I have my sources. Anyway, glad to hear your cohabitation with Quinzel is going terribly. I was honestly surprised she made weight.”

“She has been eating a lot of pizza…” Pam admitted, glancing down at the arena below as the overhead lights shut off and the familiar spotlights searched the crowd.

Bruce placed his napkin on his now empty plate, rising to stand near Selina. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Please tell me someone vetted Quinzel’s entrance music this time.”

“Still not my job,” Pamela reminded them.

“—AND SHE’S BACK FOR BLOOD—HARLEEN QUINZEL!!!”

The song started with an aggressive instrumental, the lights finding Harley in her tunnel as she bounced to the music, bare fists pounding on her chest in time with the drums.

Her face was again painted white, that familiar sloppy trail of lipstick exaggerating her already deranged smile.

_Bet you think you get the picture_

_Bitch, you don’t know how good I treat ya_

“Networks are fine with ‘bitch’, right?” Selina turned to Bruce to ask.

“If memory serves.”

_Girl, I’ve been way too much to handle_

_Bitch, I’ve never been a good example_

Harley skipped towards the ring, pumping her fist in the air and garnering crazed applause from her section of clearly loyal fans.

_Seen not heard is what they told me_

_I look too good to be this lonely_

“Is this a cry for help?” Selina wondered aloud.

_I’m pretty like a car crash_

_Ugly as a lullaby_

_You really wanna try it_

_Experiment on me_

Harley proceeded to climb onto the ring platform, outside the ropes, and backflip off it, then rip the tank top she’d been wearing in half after she landed it.

_Experiment on me_

_Experiment on me_

“Sounds like she’s ready for you, Pamela,” Selina intoned. “I do appreciate her leaving the blood capsules at home.”

Harley finally scurried under the ropes and into the ring, giving a big smile to the camera that projected her bloody teeth onto the jumbotron.

“…scratch that,” Selina rescinded the compliment.

Pam sighed when the music faded away. “What’s the likelihood she’s genuinely unwell, do you think?”

“Rather high,” Bruce piped up.

The announcer had moved on. “—OUR VERY DANGEROUS DIVA, SIREN OF SONG, OUR BLACK CANARY—DINAH LANCE!!!”

_Birds flying high_

_You know how I feel_

Pamela had always found Dinah’s heterosexuality odd for how committed she was to vests.

_Sun in the sky_

_You know how I feel_

Then again, maybe the fishnets she insisted on entering every match with cancelled that out.

_Breeze driftin’ on by_

_You know how I feel_

Dinah was still standing at the entrance of her tunnel, swaying subtly to the music, her golden robe sparkling under the spotlights.

_It’s a new dawn_

_It’s a new day_

_It’s a new life_

_For me_

_…And I’m feeling good_

That’s when she began her walk, strutting with a deserved confidence up to the ring, stepping with one leg and then the other over the ropes. It wasn’t until the bass dropped that Canary cracked her cool exterior, pulling her robe off her shoulders, looking to the ceiling and releasing a guttural scream.

A scream that was parroted back to her by over half of the area.

Pamela was extremely grateful she hadn’t been asked to watch a Canary fight from ground level.

Harley cracked her knuckles in her empty corner, waiting for a staff volunteer to help her lace up her gloves.

This was not going to be pretty.

The first round starting with a bang, neither Harley nor Dinah interested in attempting to learn from each other like Harley and Kate had. Dinah opened things up by charging, swinging for Harley’s head and then quickly ducking to jab her in the stomach.

Harley doubled over when the wind was knocked out of her, allowing Dinah the opportunity to land a strong uppercut that sent Harley flying back into the ropes.

The referee placed himself between them, signaling for Dinah to wait while Harley recovered slightly.

Pam shifted her attention from the actual ring to the jumbotron, hoping to get a better look at the damage that had been done to Harley’s face.

“Shit!” Damian laughed from his position in the corner, watching as Harley’s head lulled from side to side, her eyes unable to focus. “She got her bell rung.”

Pam jumped at his voice, he was standing 5 feet from her and she hadn’t noticed him. Damian was right, though, Harley did not look ‘all there’.

“That’s probably a concussion,” Bruce commented.

“We’ll get her checked out afterwards,” Selina assured. “This won’t take much longer.”

Harley held her eyes closed for a moment, her jaw clenching on her mouth guard, then finally pushed herself off the ropes.

The referee backed up, signaling for the fight to resume.

 _Uh oh…_ Pam thought as soon as Harley’s eyes opened. There was a darkness to her features, a manic fury that tensed her muscles, pulled her lips into a smile and clouded her formerly bright blue eyes with an obvious rage. It was like watching a shark smell blood in the water, but the blood was all her own. 

She sprinted forward, clotheslining an unprepared Dinah in a very illegal move. Harley’s fans cheered; the rest booed.

The ref was yelling something at her, but Harley wasn’t listening, didn’t have the ability to, it seemed. She kicked Dinah in the gut while she was down, forcing the other woman to curl into the fetal position to protect herself.

Pam glanced over at Selina and Bruce, who were both watching, rapt and horrified as Harley dropped down on top of Dinah, mercilessly wailing on any part of her that her gloves could make contact with until she was dragged away by the referee, who threw her into the ropes to cool off.

Dinah rose shakily to her feet, blood smeared on her face and gloves and dripping from her mouth and nose.

The referee motioned for the medical team to check Dinah out while he went to deal with Harley.

“Well…” Selina cleared her throat after Harley’s forfeiture due to disqualification was announced. “She certainly knows how to keep things interesting, doesn’t she?”

“This is why we don’t include streetfighters, Pamela,” Bruce snapped. “This exact situation. She has no discipline!”

“She also doesn’t have a coach!” Pam wasn’t quite sure why she was defending her in this moment, what she’d done was clearly over the line. “She’s been hanging on by a thread for years and you guys magically want her to be able to self-regulate after her entire fucked-up support system was ripped away from her?”

“Pamela’s right,” Selina decided, surprising both Bruce and Pam herself. “Obviously, I never want to see anything like that again, but I like the energy.”

“Selina w—we should ban her for life!” Bruce was beside himself.

“No,” Selina shook her head. “Get her a coach and have her in my office first thing Monday morning. She was just miscast, that’s all.”

Now Bruce and Pam were both confused.

“She’s not the new Kate Kane,” Selina explained with a self-satisfied smile. “She’s my new villain.” 

/

Pam found Harley doubled over on the stretching table in the locker room, her head in her hands, rocking subtly back and forth.

“Christ on the cross, Harleen! What the fuck was that?!” she demanded. “You can’t do that! You can’t do any of that!”

“Can you talk a little quieter and get me a glass of water?” Harley mumbled, not lifting her head. “And maybe some Oxy?”

Pam wanted so badly to pretend she hadn’t heard that last part. “Harleen, you can’t ask the woman who tests you for narcotics abuse for opioids.”

“Then what are you even good for?!” Harley raised her head to scream. “I’m in pain! I thought you were my friend. Friends don’t let friends hurt like this.”

“No, that’s exactly what friends do,” Pam disagreed, in complete disbelief that this was the same young woman who giggled at the strangest aspects of life and cheered enthusiastically for every one of her opponents. “I’m not here to support a manufactured opioid addiction, Harley. Now what happened out there?”

“I don’t know!” tears began to run down Harley’s cheeks, creating streaks in her already smeared face paint. “I went somewhere else; I went to my angry place. I didn’t wanna hurt her like that but she hurt me and I wanna win.”

_OK, so perhaps the issues here are both more and less nuanced than I gave her credit for._

Pam didn’t know what to say, emotions weren’t exactly her strong suit, and again, she was not a mental health professional. Plus, she was a little afraid of the dead-eyed Harley she’d had the displeasure of meeting more than once now.

“Harley…” Pam sighed. “I—I’m going to help you win, OK? Let’s just—let’s go home.”

The blonde sniffed, wiping roughly at the snot bubble in her nostril. “Fine.”

Pamela would be the first to admit she wasn’t accustomed to making decisions without a strategy, but what else could she do besides help this girl? Pam wouldn’t exactly say she’d grown to care for her, but for all Pamela’s supposed lack of empathy, she wasn’t a fan of unnecessary suffering. And Harley had clearly suffered a lot in her life at the hands of others. Pamela had to prove—maybe as much to herself as to Harley—that she was at least better than Jared. Luckily, that wasn’t exactly a high bar.


	10. Chapter 10

Harley didn’t sleep well during the night, that’s something Pamela had noticed since she’d come to live with her, which was just as well on this particular night because she likely had a concussion and she needed to stay awake for as long as possible.

“My head’s killin’ me,” Harley grumbled, laying back on a nest of pillows Pam had brought from her own bed (those decorative ones weren’t going to cut it right now).

“I’m not giving you any more ibuprofen, you’re going to stress your kidneys,” Pam scolded, retrieving another ice pack from the freezer to replace the now room temperature one that Harley was holding against her jaw.

“Don’t I got two of those for a reason?”

Pam rolled her eyes, moving Harley’s feet to take up residence on the other end of the couch. “Honestly, Harleen…” for some reason, she felt as though all the energy had been sapped from her body, so she closed her eyes, sinking into the rather uncomfortable sofa that she was beginning to regret purchasing. “Why are you a boxer, Harley?” she broke the silence that had descended between them. “And please be more specific than you were last time.”

Even without looking, she could feel Harley shrugging. “Don’t know. Couldn’t be a gymnast anymore, and I had alotta—I don’t know—rage, I guess. You gotta do something with that or it’ll tear you up inside. Mistah J told me that.”

“It’s tearing you up anyway,” Pam pointed out. “You clearly have immense physical talent, Harley, but as far as I can tell Jared wasted it.”

“What do you mean?” Harley wondered.

“I mean, you’re a fantastic athlete, but a subpar boxer,” Pam told her. “You have almost zero intelligence for the sport.”

Harley sat up. “Hey, fuck you! You’re so rude!”

“I didn’t say you were a lost cause,” Pam reminded her. “You’re just too raw to be truly successful at this level. You need someone who can help you harness that energy.”

“Well, great!” Harley threw her hands up. “Find me a fuckin coach, then!”

/

Harley was still asleep (and breathing, thank goodness) when Pam rose the next morning. She went about her typical routine—water plants, shower, makeup, hair, clothes, coffee—before taking a seat at the desk in her home office and going through her old rolodex.

The gentleman Pam was thinking of had been retired for a year or two now, but he was the only coach she could recall off the top of her head who might be able to corral Harley out of undisciplined mediocrity.

The line rang 6 times and Pam was preparing to leave a voicemail when, to her surprise, a gruff, male voice on the other end asked, “What do you want?”

“Slade!” Pamela painted a big smile on, one she hoped he’d be able to hear through the phone. “Always good to hear your voice.”

“Who’s this?”

“Oh, this is Dr. Pamela Isley from the WBA, you remember me,” she assured him. “How’s retirement been treating you?”

“Fine,” his tone was curt. “And yeah, I remember you.”

“Wonderful, then I’m sure you also remember how many of your athletes I gifted clean reports to.”

“Christ, what do you want?” He demanded.

Pam leaned back in her office chair. “I have a project for you. A bit of a wild mustang that only you can break sort of situation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Harleen Quinzel,” Pamela cut to the chase. “Have you heard of her?”

“That clown girl who was disqualified last night?”

“The very same.”

“What about her?”

“She’s a valuable asset to our organization and she doesn’t have a coach,” Pam told him. “Naturally, we have our pick of the field, but I thought of you.”

“I don’t do that anymore.”

“Do what?” Pam asked. “Win? You’re right, it has been a while. Lord knows you didn’t exactly retire victorious.”

“Listen, lady, I don’t—,”

“We’ll make it worth your while. And she’s more coachable than Jason, I can promise you that. Just one meeting, OK? Grant her that and I won’t publish your last title winner’s original test results.”

The silence on the other end of the line was long enough for Pam to finish her coffee.

“Fine,” he eventually acquiesced, sounding none too happy about it. “When and where?”

/

The bruise on Harley’s jaw had changed from a deep purple to a yellowish green by the time Monday rolled around.

She was dressed in one of her new outfits, which was really the only thing that had motivated her to get off Pamela’s couch that morning.

Her volatility had dissipated, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion that reminded Pam of the morning after she’d shown up on her doorstep.

Pam was beginning to realize that Harley’s moods came in cycles based on her proximity to a fight. Before a fight she was manic, unable to focus, jumpy, like every nerve and synapse was exposed. The day of the fight she was nearly unreachable, Harley gone and replaced with…whoever that was in the clown makeup. Then, afterwards, she crashed—sleeping most of the day and only standing to retrieve whatever food she was having delivered. As soon as she got back in the gym and started training for her new opponent, her lethargy would melt away and the energetic, good natured, empathetic and oftentimes oblivious Harley would return. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Pamela had spent enough time around these athletes to understand they all experienced highs and lows, but Harley took it all to an extreme. She seemed to be having a slightly more difficult time recovering from this fight than the one with Kate, perhaps because there was some shame wrapped up in this one thanks to her disqualification.

Pam glanced over at her from the driver’s seat, watching as the blonde breathed deeply, her eyes closed, head resting against the glass of the window. She wasn’t asleep, but close to it, and Pam idly wondered if she should get her an energy drink before their meeting with Selina.

Ultimately, she decided stopping would make them late, and she didn’t need to facilitate Harley leaving another bad impression on Selina. So she headed straight for the office instead, rousing Harley from her near slumber in the parking garage and riding with her in the elevator up to the top floor.

“How long’s this gonna take?” Harley wondered; her body slumped against the metal wall.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Pam apologized, though there was little genuine remorse in the statement. “Is your job keeping you from something you’d rather be doing?”

“I mean, yeah,” Harley said like she wasn’t expecting the question. “There’s a show on Netflix about some crazy dude who has two husbands and owns a tiger zoo, so…”

“Fascinating.”

“I want a hyena.”

“Well, you can’t have one,” Pam denied her request, stepping out into the hallway once the doors opened and starting towards Selina’s office.

Harley followed reluctantly behind, dragging her feet like a petulant teenager.

Selina waved them into her office immediately, welcoming them with an unnaturally happy smile. Pam understood the purpose of the meeting, but little about Selina’s intention, so the odd greeting made her instantly uneasy.

“Harleen,” Selina walked towards her with an outstretched hand for her to shake. “It’s so good to see you again. Glad you made it through the night, I just finished the report from our medical staff, and you have a doozy of a concussion.”

“I followed protocol,” Pam assured, taking a seat while Harley and Selina finished their awkward handshake.

Selina gestured for Harley to take a seat beside her. “Great. So, obviously, I need to start things off by briefly addressing what happened last Friday…”

“I’m not allowed to kick in boxing,” Harley said like it was a line she’d been taught to recite, plopping down in the empty chair.

“Right, or clothesline or punch your opponent while they’re on the ground,” Selina added with a nod, crossing her arms and leaning back against her desk. “Typically, conduct like that would warrant either a suspension or a hefty fine, so I’m just going to cut your commission check for that fight in half and call it good. Sound fair?”

“Hey, wait a—,” Harley began to protest, but Pam placed a hand on her thigh, giving her a firm squeeze while she cut her off.

“Fair.”

“Wonderful,” Selina smiled. “Harleen,” she changed the subject, circling around her desk and taking a seat behind it. “I owe you an apology. It seems I underestimated you as a performer. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Harley was confused. “Um…sure?”

“See, Pam, Bruce and I,” she continued. “We saw the blue eyes and blonde hair and those adorable dimples of yours and assumed the best you could be was another Stephanie Brown. But that’s not who you are, is it, Harl?”

“I mean…no?” Harley guessed. “I don’t think so?”

“No,” Selina agreed. “When Pam first showed me your tape, I thought your unhinged, demonic jester thing was something your coach had come up with to get some retweets. But you’re actually a little fucked up, aren’t you?”

Harley opened her mouth and then closed it, evidently not sure how to respond.

Selina smiled kindly at her, her eyes softening in a way Pam rarely got to see. “I did a little supplemental reading on you. My husband Bruce is quite the detective, you see. Is it true your Father took out a life insurance policy on you, your brother and your Mother and tried to have you killed to pay off his mob debt?”

Harley’s face flushed red, her head bowing like she’d finally been caught.

That was all the affirmation Selina needed, but Pam wasn’t quite ready to move on.

“Hold on,” the redhead interjected. “Did you just—,”

“Yes, it seems Harley may have pulled into the lead for the office ‘Most Fucked up Childhood’ title,” Selina cut her off. “I mean, Pam, our entries are solid, but I think it’s Bruce and Harley in first and second at this point.”

Pam sat back in her chair to process that information.

Selina’s focus moved back to Harley. “That must have been tough.”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” Harley mumbled.

“That’s fine,” Selina granted. “We don’t need to delve into the hurt there, I’m not your therapist. I just didn’t want you thinking you work for some heartless corporation. Here’s the thing about boxers—everyone here is a stray in one form or another. My husband Bruce competed for many years to try and bury the trauma of losing his parents.”

Harley glanced up, finding a bit of bravery. “Did it work?”

“Oh, sure,” Selina chuckled. “I mean, he still occasionally cries himself to sleep, but he won a lot of titles, and success truly is the best band aid.”

The blonde frowned, mulling that over while Selina and Pam watched. “Do you think I should send Canary a fruit basket or something?” She finally asked.

Selina pursed her lips. “A fruit basket probably isn’t going to cut it. But here’s the deal, alright? We’re here for you, all of us—except for Dinah, you definitely burned that bridge—and I don’t want you losing any of your fighting spirit. In fact, I don’t want you to change a thing. Not the face paint or the fist pounding or the shirt ripping—I’ll even let you get away with an infraction or two per match, if you play the game for me.”

Harley raised a suspicious eyebrow. “What game?”

“My bad girl is washed up,” Selina explained. “I need you to take her down for me.”

/

Slade was already waiting in the gym when Pam and Harley arrived, leaning against the ropes of the practice ring, his hair having grayed since he and Pam’s last meeting. Retirement had not been kind to him.

“Dr. Isley, you wretched bitch,” he greeted, not moving to welcome them as Selina had. “What a pleasure it is to be blackmailed into seeing you again.”

“Yes, thank you so much for coming, Mr. Wilson,” her smile and tone were condescending. “We’re so honored you could take time out of your now useless existence to meet with us.”

…this was more the tone Pam had been expecting over the phone, their earlier conversation had gone far too well, seemed Pam was right not to trust it.

Harley stepped out from behind Pam, looking between the two as they stared each other down. “Did you guys hook up or somethin’? Is that why this is weird?”

The question caused Pam to nearly short circuit. “I’m sorry, wh—,”

“What’s with the eye patch?” Harley had already moved on, stepping past Pam and up to the ring. “Is it just to look cool or did somebody poke your eye out?”

Slade squinted, pushing off the ropes to size her up with his good eye. “You look different without the paint,” he decided.

“OK, wait,” Pam piped up in the background. “Before we get too far into anything, I just want to make it clear that we absolutely did not have intercourse with each other.”

Slade and Harley ignored her, the blonde climbing into the ring to join him. “Timeout,” she said once she got close enough to really get a look at him. “I know you! You’re the guy who went blind in one eye cuz Victor Stone had metal in his gloves.”

“—that anyone would assume I’d let a man inside of me is comical, borderline offensive, actually—,”

Slade grunted in response to Harley’s identification.

“Pammy says you’re a good coach,” Harley told him.

“That so?”

Harley nodded. “Yeah, and I’m gonna need one cuz evidently I’m a street brawler, not a boxer, and I gotta win my next fight.”

Slade narrowed his eye, unconvinced.

Pam decided to let Harley take this one while she brainstormed ways to somehow make her sexuality more obvious to her.

“Listen, I realize I ain’t much, alright?” there was suddenly emotion in Harley’s voice. “I grew up on the street because my daddy cared so little he tried to kill me, my mama popped pills until we got taken away and my little brother caught a train and never looked back. At least that’s what the cops told me; he could be in a million pieces in some creep’s dumpster for all we know.”

 _Oh…shit…_ Pam checked back into the conversation.

A tear was rolling down Harley’s cheek. “They said I couldn’t do gymnastics anymore after that foster family kicked me to the curb, so this is all I’ve got left. I work hard, mistah, that’s the truth. I just—I gotta win. I can’t let these people down. Red—she’s lettin’ me crash on her couch, and Selina and Mistah Wayne—they think I can really be somebody. Please, you gotta help me be somebody.”

Slade slowly uncrossed his arms, letting all that hang in the air for a moment while Pam exhaled for the first time since Harley began her appeal.

“I don’t train cheaters,” was how Slade finally responded. “So either you learn to control your temper enough to follow the rules, or you find a different coach.”

Harley wiped the tear from her cheek, a relieved smile nearly splitting her face in two. “I wanna learn, you just gotta teach me how.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs are COUNTERFEIT by Elley Duhe and...you know the other one.

“Is it true you convinced Slade Wilson to coach Harley?”

Pamela didn’t stop at the question, choosing instead to continue her short walk to the executive conference room. “That is true, yes.”

The footsteps behind her quickened, Damian Wayne appearing beside her, and then speeding up to jog backwards in front of her so they could maintain a face to face conversation. “How’d you do it?”

“Blackmail,” Pam answered simply, silencing her phone when it vibrated in her hand. “How else?”

Damian grinned, an altogether foreign expression for him. “That’s messed up, I bet my father expected better of you.”

“I can assure you he does not,” Pam said, stopping outside the conference room. “What do you want, kid? I’m busy.”

“Bullshit,” Damian nodded towards the conference room’s posted schedule. “You’re 10 minutes early for your meeting and I want in.”

Pam raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Into my formal budget submission for enhanced on-site specimen and materials storage?”

Damian rolled his eyes like he was disappointed in her. “No, not into your boring meeting, you nerd. I want Wilson to train me.”

“I’m not the Slade Wilson czar, if you…” Pam was distracted when her phone vibrated again, checking the caller ID to see it was her mother (for the 3rd time this morning). “…if you want him to train you, you’ll have to speak with him directly. Though, I wouldn’t get your hopes up. For one, he’s an asshole who only took Harley on out of self-preservation. And secondly, I know for a fact your father doesn’t want you to start accumulating head injuries this young.” 

“I’m 15!” Damian caviled. “Father doesn’t know what’s good for me.”

“Right, sure, whatever,” Pam just wanted this conversation to be over with, so she took the brave step of clicking on her missed call, raising her phone to her ear. “Go do your homework.”

Damian left out a huff, leaving Pamela alone outside the conference room, waiting for her mother to pick up. It took longer than it should have, based on how insistently Lillian had been trying to get a hold of her for the last month.

“I’ve got 5 minutes,” she announced once the line was live. “What could possibly be important enough to warrant 3 phone calls in one morning?”

“Why hello, daughter,” the passive aggression was palpable in her mother’s tone. “So good to finally hear your voice again.”

Pamela sighed. “I’m walking into a budget meeting. Is there something specific you were hoping to discuss or is this a social call?”

“Well, your father’s officially dying, thought you might like to know,” Lillian answered flippantly. “My bridge club recommended hiring hospice services, and what a terrible thing it is to have strangers crawling about your home at all hours.”

Pam tucked her tablet under her arm, using her now free hand to massage her temples. “Yes, I’m sure the medical professionals you’ve hired are quite the nuisance.”

“They wear those awful croc sandals,” Lillian balked. “The squeaking! It’s enough to drive a woman mad.”

“Yes, well, I’m so glad you’ve found a way to make this about you.”

Lillian chose not to respond to that. “In any case, I’ve booked you a ticket out of JFK tomorrow—,”

“Mother, no,” Pam found her hand had clenched into a fist. “For one, I live in Gotham and we have our own airport here.”

“Yes, but it’s so dirty, Pamela…”

“And secondly, I’m in the middle of my season,” Pam continued. “This is all extremely inconvenient. I have a lot on my plate right now.”

Lillian scoffed. “If you think I’m going to allow you to get out of saying goodbye to your father so you can continue to entertain another degenerate female house guest, you—,”

“Cancel the ticket, Mother,” Pam cut her off. “I’ll let you know if my schedule clears up.” She hung up before Lillian could get another word in and leaned against the glass wall of the conference room, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her phone like a lifeline.

Bruce’s voice startled her. “Are you ready to begin?”

Pam blinked, standing upright and turning to acknowledge him with a humanoid smile. “Yes. Did you get the overview I sent last night?”

“I did,” Bruce said, opening the door for her.

/

Harley was still visibly sweaty from her training session when she shuffled into the kitchen, making a b-line for the fridge. She reached for the leftover Chinese food that had spent the last three days stinking up Pam’s house, but Pam was quick to slam the refrigerator door shut, nearly catching Harley’s arm inside.

“No.”

“Hey!” Harley protested. “What gives? I’m hungry!”

Pam placed herself between Harley and the fridge. “You’re overweight.”

Harley was offended. “Says who?”

“Slade,” Pam told her. “He sent over some very specific instructions for your diet. Look,” she gestured towards the stove. “I’m making you dinner, isn’t that kind of me?”

Harley looked like she might cry. “Red, c’mon, that looks so gross.”

Pam tried to not let that knock her pride. “It’s chicken. You eat chicken all the time.”

“Yeah!” Harley agreed. “Wings and strips!”

“Just sit down and watch your tiger show,” Pam waved her away, annoyed. “I’m trying to do you a favor here, and you can’t win if you don’t make weight.”

Harley leaned against the island in a huff, trying to blow the bangs that were matted to her forehead out of her face. “Slade told me you guys don’t like each other because you’re a controlling bitch and he’s a crotchety old man, but because you guys hooked up.”

“I also told you that,” Pam reminded her, stirring the green beans on the stove.

“Are you a lesbian?”

“I am,” Pam answered before fully registering the question.

“How come?”

“To disappoint my mother,” Pam joked, before deciding to take the conversation more seriously. “It certainly wasn’t something I chose, just…a gift that was bestowed upon me,” she winked, which made Harley smile.

“Damian said you used to sleep with Kate Kane.”

“Why are you and Damian—,”

“Why did you do that?” Harley wondered.

“Because I found her attractive.”

“But she’s married.”

“Because I choose to reserve the moral high ground for other aspects of my life,” Pam amended.

Harley frowned. “Hm.”

“Sorry to disappoint?” Pam offered.

Harley shook her head, refusing the apology and watching the chicken breast as it sizzled in the pan. After a moment, she asked, “Do you think I’m a good person?”

“Well, you’re the bad guy now, remember?” Pam teased, turning off the burner and reaching above her for a plate.

“Oh, right,” Harley grinned, sounding relieved. “Duh.”

/

Pamela watched the syringe fill with blood, removing the needle once it’d reached capacity. Silently, she labeled the vial with Talia’s full name and ID number and filed it away.

Talia sat silently aside from the slow, rhythmic tapping of her fingernails against the side of the examination table. Her dark eyes flitted to the clock on the wall rather than watch Pamela retrieve the mouth swabs.

“You know the drill,” Pam instructed upon her return, and Talia went through the motions, opening her mouth with a sigh so Pam could collect her samples.

The two women had never developed much of a relationship. Maybe because Talia was not exactly her type and Pam found it exceedingly difficult to foster meaningful connection with people she wasn’t attracted to…or maybe it was because Pamela found Talia deeply uninteresting. Either way, Pamela didn’t look forward to rousing conversations during their testing sessions.

But Pam was feeling oddly lonely at the moment, so she cleared her throat, deciding to attempt some human bonding with this woman before watching her pee. “So, you vs. Quinzel, huh? That should be interesting.”

Talia paused a moment before responding, like she was weighing whether engaging was worth it. “Since when does boxing interest you?”

See, this is why Talia wasn’t Pam’s type, two bitchy power bottoms did not make for a fun night.

“Oh, I’m learning to appreciate the strategy in it,” Pam offered her a work-colleague appropriate smile. “I was surprised when Selina told me you were hanging up the gloves after this season, though. Can’t be easy to say goodbye to it all, I’m sure.”

That certainly captured Talia’s attention. “I’m sorry?” She asked, sitting up straighter. “Did you just say I’m retiring after this season?”

Pam cocked her head in confusion. “Well…yes…at least that’s how this fight between you and Quinzel was pitched to me. It’s supposed to be a changing of the guards, according to Bruce and Selina.”

Talia laughed, though the sound was devoid of humor. “Is that right?”

Pamela was beginning to realize she’d made a mistake. “Yes, I’m—I’m sorry, I assumed you’d taken part in a strategy meeting.”

“The fuck I did.” The rage in her movements was obvious as Talia hopped down off the table, green eyes blazing. She stormed towards the door and was out in the hallway before Pam could react.

 _Shit._ “Hey!” Pam yelled after her, holding up her empty sample cup. “I still need your urine!”

“We both know you’re going to find HGH in there!” Talia shouted back over her shoulder as she power walked towards the gym. “I’ll take the fine!”

Pam was now jogging after her, stripping off her PPE as she went. “But I still have to catalogue it!”

“It can wait!”

She knew why Talia had set her course for the gym and not the executive floor—it was 4pm, and 4pm was when Bruce used the gym for his own training routine. Talia no doubt knew she could more easily appeal her case to him rather than Selina, they did have a child together, after all. Besides, for all the weight Selina threw around, ultimately Bruce was her superior, he had final say on everything from talent acquisition, to matchups and strategy, to budget and compensation.

But Bruce was not in the gym today. Slade had requested a special training time, so when Talia shoved the double doors open, she was greeted with the sight of Harley standing in the practice ring, opposite…Damian, as Slade observed.

“Quinzel, if your feet stop again, I will make you jump rope until you puke,” Slade was saying, paying little mind to their visitor.

Pam finally caught up, slowing to a stop beside Talia as she witnessed the scene in front of her.

“Damian,” Talia said, her tone cool, getting his attention immediately. “What are you doing?”

The boy dropped his stance, Harley turning to look too, though she continued to bounce in place. “Hello, Mother,” he greeted, putting some space between he and the blonde. “I didn’t know you were training today.”

“I could say the same for you.”

This interaction reminded Pamela very much of the many uncomfortable moments she and her mother had shared.

“I—I know Father doesn’t approve of my training, but—,”

“I don’t care what your father approves of,” Talia cut him off. “Why are you training with them?”

Damian shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, so Slade took the lead. “He wanted some pointers, so I said he could be Quinzel’s sparring partner. Don’t worry,” he assured her. “They’ve had very little contact, we’re really just working on finding our angles today.”

That did not console Talia. In fact, she put a hand up to silence Slade like he, too, was a child. “You’re aware she’s my next opponent?” she addressed Damian.

He nodded.

“And did you know your father and stepmother are trying to force me into retirement?”

“No, Mother,” Damian mumbled. “I did not.”

Harley’s panting and the muted tap of her bare feet on the mat were the only sounds in the gym for what felt like an eternity to Pamela.

“You’re not coming with me,” Talia realized after Damian made no move to leave the ring. “You’d rather stay and train with them.”

“Yes, Mother,” he muttered.

Talia began to nod her head, slowly backing up towards the door. “You can tell Selina all bets are off,” she told Pam before turning to leave. “And I’m not giving you my piss.”

“Right, except for it’s not optional,” Pamela felt the need to remind her…though Talia was already gone, and now Slade, Damian and Harley were all staring at her. Pam cleared her throat. “I don’t often make mistakes, but that one was my bad.”

“Get out of my gym,” Slade growled. “Now.”

/

Harley was trying her best to take deep, controlled breaths as they waited for her music cue. Talia would enter first, so they had a while to wait, but Harley was still antsy.

Pam had never waited in the tunnel before, so she wasn’t sure if this was part of her normal routine or if she was practicing a calming technique from Slade, but from the way her coach was watching her, it seemed he was pleased.

They’d specially ordered a new robe for her, one that was two-tone, red and black, embroidered with black diamonds on the red side to really embrace the jester motif. It’d arrived just in time and Harley was absolutely in love with it. Pam, however, was a bit distracted by the sharpie that Harley had chosen to decorate her jaw with. Her face now read “Rotten” in sloppy handwriting.

“Mother has a sneaky right hook,” Damian was saying, whether to Harley or Slade, Pam wasn’t sure. “She tries to throw people off by dropping her left shoulder, but—,”

Harley plugged her ears and shut her eyes tight. “I know, Kid! Just lemme do my thing.”

That’s when the spotlight flared up, finding the opposite tunnel as the announcer’s microphone crackled.

“HELLO AND WELCOME LADIES AND GENTS, TO THE NIGHT GOTHAM CITY HAS BEEN WAITING FOR, THE BATTLE OF THE BADDIES!!!”

The crowd roared to life, and Pam watched as Harley let her hands fall away from her ears, though her eyes remained closed.

“FIRST UP, THE DAUGHTER OF DARKNESS HERSELF, OUR RESIDENT EVIL-DOER, TALIA AL GHULLLLLL!!!!”

Savage…

Savage…

Going, going, going savage…

Her music started with a haunting female vocal, and Pamela watched on the jumbotron as Talia stepped from the shadows, though her features remained obscured by her dark hood.

_I do not wait to die_

The brunette’s head moved on her neck like a snake, pulsating as her body remained still.

_Staring into Judas’s eyes_

She took a small step forward then, though her head remained down, seeming to take the shadows of the tunnel with her.

_You didn’t wanna be loyal_

_You didn’t wanna be kind_

_Overestimated yourself there, baby_

_Underestimated my time_

Pamela glanced back at Slade, puzzled. This was all considerably less demonic than Talia’s typical displays. Slade remained stone faced. By the time she’d returned her attention to the jumbotron, Talia had raised one of her hands high into the air…and then extended her middle finger.

_Yeah, you’s a counterfeit_

_Carbon copy, fraud, no real_

_Imitation, gods only cry when caught in a lie_

Talia continued her slow journey towards the stage, proudly maintaining her FUCK YOU the entire way while her gaze remained downcast.

_Snakes and vines, they live untamed,_

_They climb my walls, they hug my pain_

Pam wasn’t quite sure who this display was for. Bruce and Selina? Harley? Damian? All likely answers, but whatever the reason, it seemed to be bumming everyone out.

_Carbon copy, fraud, no real_

_Imitation, gods only cry when caught in a lie_

Talia was met with boos when she finally entered the ring, electing to use the stairs rather than climb over the ropes and walk straight to the stool in her corner without fanfare.

“NOW PLEASE, PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR YOUR NEW MISTRESS OF MAYHEM, HARLEEN QUINZEL!!!”

Harley’s eyes snapped open when she heard her name, like the words had activated her. Slade grabbed her shoulders, grounding her one last time before they lost her to the ring.

“Remember,” he said, his face inches from hers to ensure she’d hear him over the music. “Your anger is a tool, you control it. Don’t let it control you.”

Harley nodded, looking to Pam next, who offered her a surprisingly nervous smile. Everything was a lot more visceral down here. “Don’t worry, Red,” Harley grinned, her features changing from charming to maniacal as the lights found her. “I’m the bad guy.”

…and that’s when the music started, with a catchy bassline and snare combination that Harley began to bounce to, shifting from one foot to the other, her shoulders loose and head nodding to the beat.

_White shirt now red, my bloody nose_

_Sleepin’, you’re on your tippy toes_

_Creepin’ around like no one knows_

_Think you’re so criminal_

“Oh no,” Pam said aloud as Harley continued to dance up the walkway like she was at a rave, realization dawning.

“I think she may have taken the assignment too literally!” Damian yelled over the music.

Harley’s bouncing turned to stomps powerful enough for Pam to feel the vibrations.

_So you’re a tough guy_

_Like it really rough guy_

_Just can’t get enough guy_

_Chest always so puffed guy_

She dropped down on her hands for some clapping pushups that the crowd seemed to love.

…Pamela too, she was a fan, though she didn’t feel the need to scream about it.

_I’m that bad type_

_Make your mama sad type_

_Make your girlfriend mad tight_

_Might seduce your dad type_

Harley stood, acknowledging the crowd like Megan Rapinoe at the world cup, both arms raised, feet together.

 _I’m the baaaad guy_.

From that position, Harley tucked one arm into her stomach like she was about to take a bow, but did a front flip instead, landing smoothly with one foot and then the other.

_…duh!_

She pumped her fist in the air, clearly as delighted as the crowd was was by her antics and continued stomping her way up to the ring.

_I’m the bad guy_

Her head banging became more violent, though she maintained that crazed smile, licking her finger to smear it over her “Rotten” face art.

_I like it when you take control_

_Even if you know that you don’t_

_Own me, I’ll let you play the role_

_I’ll be your animal_

She untied her robe in one motion, allowing it to slip off her as she crawled under the ropes like the girl from the ring, her back and shoulder muscles flexing.

_I’m only good at being bad_

She ended her slithering army crawl with an extremely sexual thrust of her hips.

_I like when you get mad…_

“OK, Harley, wrap it up!” Slade said like she could hear him.

_I mean, I don’t see what she sees_

_But maybe it’s cuz I’m wearing your cologne_

“This isn’t Magic Mike!”

_I’m a bad guy_

_I’m, I’m a bad guy_

“Listen, I think it’s important for Harley to be able to express herself,” Pam found herself saying.

_Ha!_

Slade sighed, shaking his head like he was disappointed and starting down the walkway. “Let’s go, Damian.”

The boy followed, Pam waiting a beat to gather herself and shake that off before starting her own journey.

She sat in one of Harley’s two reserved ringside seats, Damian taking the other one while Slade stood in her corner tying Harley’s gloves. He grabbed her by the back of the head once the gloves were secure, pulling her close to share one last piece of mysterious wisdom before shoving her mouth guard into place and releasing her.

Talia, who had finally taken her hood and robe off, had her hair done up in tight braids, looking considerably more prepared and professional than Harley in her colorful pigtails. At the very least, Slade had insisted the ends of her hair be looped back through their ties, making them cute little buns for the time being.

They both refused to touch gloves in the middle of the ring, so eventually the referee gave up and the bell was rung, beginning the fight.

Harley’s feet started moving first, though she didn’t charge at her opponent, just danced up and down in place, her gloves raised to protect her face.

Talia’s body remained completely still, her gloves down at her sides, eyes tracking Harley like a predator.

The blonde faltered slightly at this; she was clearly finding the other woman’s affect strange. She advanced carefully, taking two steps forward but then one step back, gloves bobbing in front of her face. Still, Talia had no reaction, so Harley decided to take a shot just to test the waters.

She threw a jab first, which Talia easily blocked, then a cross to the body, which Talia absorbed by flexing her abs and curling inward.

“Don’t fall for it,” Damian muttered under his breath.

And then Talia walked away. Just…walked to the other side of the ring, like she was completely unbothered by anything that was going on around her.

So Harley dropped her gloves, her brow furrowing as she turned to Slade to see if he knew what was going on.

…and that was clearly mistake.

Harley was on her knees after one punch that landed solidly just below her ear. And Talia stood over her, silent and imposing, until the referee pushed her back to separate them.

“Goddamn it, Harley!” Slade shouted. “What are we doing out here?”

The blonde used the ropes to get back on her feet, cracking her neck as the referee reset them. She knocked her gloves together, restarting her feet and protecting her face as she approached Talia again. 

Talia dropped her lead shoulder like she was doing to jab at Harley’s body, but then recoiled, throwing a hook with her right hand instead, just like Damian had warned.

Harley blocked the hook, which left her body exposed for the uppercut that came next, and then the quick jab to the face that split her lip in two.

Pamela winced with pain that was not her own and watched as that familiar fire lit behind Harley’s eyes.

 _Goddamn it_ , she thought, feeling like she was about to watch a different cut of the same movie.

“Use it, Harley! Use it!” Slade’s voice was barely audible over the raucous crowd.

Pam watched as Harley took a visible breath, her chest heaving, stance tightening. And Talia laughed, like a literal supervillain.

“Let’s go, hotshot!” she said, the words a bit garbled through her mouthguard. “Thought you were the new me!”

 _Come on, Harley_ , Pam held her bottom lip between her teeth, more invested in this altercation than any other before it.

The blonde again attacked with a simple jab, aiming for Talia’s face, and then her body, and following that up with a right hook that caught Talia’s shoulder but didn’t do much damage.

The bell rang to signal the end of the first round and Pam let out a sigh of relief. Harley had managed to keep her cool, which at this point, felt like a massive victory. She couldn’t tell what Slade was saying to her from this distance, but the pat on the head he gave her seemed reassuring.

Harley’s eyes searched the crowd after swallowing down her squirt of water, finding Pam’s and remaining locked there while Slade dabbed at her bloody lip with a towel.

Pam didn’t know what Harley was looking for in that moment. Wasn’t sure what she could offer. So she landed on an admittedly awkward double thumbs up, which Harley seemed to appreciate because she raised her glove in response…before realizing her thumb wasn’t visible or mobile at the moment.

Slade yanked her focus back to the task at hand by clapping in her face, grabbing her by the jaw and telling her “Let’s do this”, which was easy enough for to Pamela to lip read.

It was the 6th round before Talia made a mistake. Both athletes were tired, that much was obvious. Harley’s footwork had slowed, her protection a bit lazier than before, while Talia was more engaged, clearly looking for a way to end this fight. Pam knew Talia would need to win with authority or Bruce and Selina would never reconsider her forced retirement.

Talia attacked, attempting to jab Harley in the stomach, though the blonde twisted, her oblique taking the brunt of it. From that position, Harley used her momentum to twist in the other direction, taking her glove with her in a massive left hook that Talia was not expecting. The force split Talia’s face open just above her eye, blood streaming down into her vision, and Harley took that opportunity to land a strike from the other side—first with a right hook, and then with a series of uppercuts that she didn’t stop until Talia was doubled over on her glove.

The fight ended with a strike to Talia’s temple, her nearly limp body falling sideways with the force of it, leaving her spitting blood onto the ground while Harley stood above her, victorious.

Pamela was on her feet before she could stop herself, screaming at the top of her lungs in a voice she didn’t recognize.

The referee raised Harley’s glove while the medical staff attended to Talia, and Harley beamed.

/

Pam waited in the locker room for Harley to be escorted safely out of the ring and through the crowd. She had the strangest excitement bubbling in her chest like she was about to meet a celebrity rather than the homeless woman who slept on her couch.

Harley’s eyes lit up when she saw her, her smile reinjuring her lip and causing it to bleed. But she didn’t seem to care. “I fuckin did it, Red!”

Slade was behind her with a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, alright?”

“Yeah, alright,” Harley grinned, turning to him. “Thanks, Coach. I couldn’t have done it without’cha.”

“Well, we’ll do it better next time,” he responded, trying to keep his tone gruff, although Pam thought she may have caught a hint of a smile somewhere in his permanently sullen expression. He gave Harley another pat, nodded cordially at Pamela, and then left them be.

“You did it,” Pam reiterated with a smile of her own, though it was short lived as she was suddenly being slammed back against the metal lockers, Harley’s lips crashing against hers, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth.

Any protest died in her throat as Harley brought her tongue into play, the blonde’s hand fisting in Pam’s red hair, her other hand pinning her hips against the lockers.

She let out an involuntary moan when Harley pulled away, though their foreheads were still pressed firmly together, Harley’s breathing ragged.

“I’m really hopin’ that’s somethin’ you wanted.”

“I—,” Pam swallowed. “I’d like a lot more than that.”


	12. Chapter 12

Pamela now intimately understood what every sharp corner and light switch in her house felt like pressed into her back as she and Harley struggled to find a soft landing spot.

Harley was rough and insistent, her lips moving from Pam’s lips, to her neck and back again, clawing at her jacket, freeing one of her arms and yanking her skirt up as she pushed her backwards onto the couch.

“Wait, H—,”

Harley was on top of her with a hand around her throat before Pamela could get a full sentence out.

“—Harley, I have an actual bed.”

“Oh…” the blonde stilled, sitting up and removing her hand. “You wanna do it there?”

“Well, yes,” Pam followed, unable to resist kissing her again. “It’s more comfortable.”

Harley scoffed, and without even a hint of sarcasm said, “More comfortable than this couch? I don’t think so.”

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Pam chuckled, taking a fistful of Harley’s hair and reciprocating her intensity, pulling her head back to drag her tongue up the column of Harley’s throat, ending at her ear where she whispered, “I’m about to blow your mind.”

Harley giggled, wrapping Pam’s legs around her waist and standing. “Whatever you say, Red.”

 _Fuck_ , _this might be better than I thought,_ Pam realized as she clung to her, graciously ignoring the sound of ripping fabric coming from her skirt. It wasn’t equipped with the necessary degree of flexibility and she wasn’t going to fault Harley for that.

“This one, right?” Harley let her down once they arrived outside her bedroom, smoothly transitioning her hands from supporting Pam’s thighs to sliding up her shirt and finding the clasp of her bra.

…the unclasping was less smooth, but you can’t win them all.

Pamela pushed the door open as her answer, stepping out of her shoes and pulling Harley’s sweatshirt over her head.

“I, uh, get to fuck you, right?” Harley asked in between kisses as Pam sat at the edge of the bed, the redhead tugging blindly at the waistband of her joggers.

Pam separated for a moment, laughing. “What? Of course.”

“Thank god,” Harley exhaled, unbuttoning Pam’s blouse and helping to strip off own her joggers. “I thought maybe you’d just wanna kiss and stuff the first time.”

Pam wiggled out of her skirt, throwing that into the same pile. “What am I, a Mormon?”

“Just checkin’,” Harley smiled, expression laced with that same fiery mania Pam recognized from the ring. Though, as Harley shoved her back against the pillows, spreading her legs apart and crawling between them, Pam realized “hunger” might be a better descriptor.

/

The morning dawned earlier than Pam would have liked, the sunlight streaming through her open curtains rousing her from the sleep she considered well deserved.

She let her eyes rest on the original Tina Blau that hung on her wall, the world slowly coming into focus around it. Taking a deep breath, Pam rolled from her side to her back, glancing over to find Harley sprawled beside her, rather immodest in her sleeping position.

Pam took a moment to study her—her mess of a hairstyle, a fascinating juxtaposition to her peaceful expression, the curves of her muscles, the bruises and tattoos that decorated her pale skin…this was the type of girl Pam preferred to have one night stands with and then never see again. Unfortunately, their living situation was going to make that approach very difficult.

 _Last night was…good, though. Like…good._ Even in her own mind, Pamela couldn’t muster much eloquence at the moment. What Harley lacked in skill and experience she made up for in effort and…athleticism, certainly.

Pam smiled to herself as she sat up, careful not to wake Harley as this was day one of her sleep-all-day-for-two-days-straight routine. She stood slowly, feeling rested, but also like she could crawl back into bed and steal another hour or two of sleep. With a sigh, Pam reached for the robe that hung just inside her walk-in closet, wrapping it around her naked body and cinching it at the waist. She’d made it to the door before Harley’s voice stopped her, the sound thick and gravely rather than high and clear like Pam was used to. Idly, she thought of Kate before turning around, finding Harley’s eyes were still closed.

“You gonna make coffee?” She’d asked.

“In a bit,” Pam answered, leaning against the doorway. “I have to water my plants first.”

Harley opened one eye, the other remaining shut in protest. “You don’t like to cuddle?”

Pamela found herself smiling at the question. “It depends…”

“On what?”

“On whom it is I’m cuddling with.”

Harley’s other eye inched open. “I think you might like cuddlin’ with me.”

“Oh?” Pam laughed.

“Yeah,” Harley smiled back at her; face still sweet with sleep. “Cuz it usually ends up a little more than just that.”

Pam bit her lip to contain her smile, more charmed by this display than she’d anticipated. “How about you take a shower, and then we can revisit.”

Harley shook her head, snuggling deeper into the down pillows. “If you think I’m leavin’ this bed, you’re a crazy lady.”

“My shower has plenty of room for two,” Pam offered.

“Mmm…” Harley seemed to be taking the suggestion under consideration. “Gimme 10 minutes.”

/

“It turns out, I might be old,” Pamela announced upon entering Selina’s office.

Selina didn’t look up from whatever she was working on. “Go on…”

“Well,” Pam invited herself to take a seat, setting her briefcase down (as she had yet to stop by her own office) and crossing one leg over the other. “I’ve essentially just taken part in three days of non-stop sex with a 23-year-old and the level of exhaustion I’m currently experiencing is frankly unprecedented.”

Selina sighed, shaking her head and banging out the rest of her sentence on her laptop keyboard. “I did ask you to elaborate…”

“And that was your mistake,” Pam pointed out.

“And that was my mistake,” Selina agreed, closing her computer. “OK, I’m going to ask you a series of questions, you’re going to respond in one-word answers, and then I never want to speak about this again. Understood?”

“I can’t promise—,”

“Does she seriously have a ‘Lucky You’ tattoo?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Mouth?”

“Improving.”

“Fingers?”

“Endorsed.”

“The upper body strength, though…”

“Spectacular.”

“Enthusiasm?”

“Otherworldly.”

Selina took a deep breath, internalizing that information. “Alright. Thank you for your honesty.”

“You’re welcome,” Pam granted, watching Bruce push Selina’s glass door open to join them.

“Did you get the updated contract?” He was asking.

Selina opened her laptop again, scrolling quickly before shaking her head. “No, how’d you send it?”

“Fax,” Bruce answered like it was obvious, inspiring a visibly negative reaction from both Pam and his wife. “What?” he demanded. “We needed ink signatures and I wasn’t going to get them from her in person.”

“From whom?” Pam asked, curious now.

Selina stood, walking over to her fax machine to make sure it was on. “Talia.”

Pam suddenly felt a bit behind the eight ball here. “Why did Talia need a new contract?”

“So she’d agree to retire,” Selina’s answer was distracted as she pressed the power button to no avail. “Your little slip of the tongue forced us to renegotiate her entire deal.”

“It’s unplugged,” Bruce pointed out, nodding towards the power cord leading to nowhere.

“Goddamn it,” Selina muttered, squatting down to find the plug, but soon realizing it was a lack of outlets causing her problem. With a sigh, she returned to her desk, pressing the intercom button on her desk phone. “Paging Tim, I need another surge protector in here.”

Pam sat forward, trying to get Selina back to what she felt the more important thread was here. “You spoke with Talia after I tested her?”

“Yes?” Selina told her like she wasn’t sure why she was making this ‘a thing’. “I did my job, much like you should have been doing, and we agreed to terms for the rest of the season.”

“So, she isn’t retiring?” Pam attempted to clarify.

“No, she is,” Bruce spoke up. “We just have to pay her more for her remaining matches and hang up her most recent title gloves with a plaque outside the arena.”

Pamela’s brow furrowed. “So the result of she and Harley’s fight was pre-determined?”

“Of course—ah, thank you, Tim,” Selina smiled at the tech intern as he delivered her surge protector, then quickly scurried out of her office. “So odd, that one,” she commented wistfully once he’d gone.

Bruce finally took a seat, choosing the one next to Pamela. “I heard he and Stephanie Brown are an item.”

“No!” Selina was shocked, though it didn’t stop her from finally getting the fax machine up and running.

“Hold on!” Pam felt she needed to re-gain control of the situation. “Talia told me all bets were off.”

“Yes,” Selina acknowledged. “But then she reconsidered because she’s not an idiot. Did you really think Harley could beat Talia al Ghul? She only had a month of preparation with Slade. He’s good, but he’s no miracle worker.”

Pamela sunk back into the leather of her chair with a certain dejection.

“Oh, come on, Isley, just because she’s not the best or the brightest doesn’t mean she can’t make you happy,” Bruce was trying to cheer her up, but for some reason it made her want to punch him in the face.

“Yeah, come on,” Selina piggy backed. “Go get your body rocked by a 23-year-old.”

“Alright,” Pamela stood, gathering her briefcase. “I think that’s quite enough for today.”

“Body be bangin’, Pammy!” Selina shouted after her. “Enjoy it while it lasts!”

/

Harley didn’t resume training until Tuesday, so Pam knew there’d be nowhere for her to be but home when she returned from work that Monday evening.

She didn’t expect to find Harley on the patio, however. Didn’t expect to find her moonwalking in front of Pam’s barbeque to Britney Spears’ Toxic, utilizing the outdoor speaker system that Pamela had installed for the house parties she and Barbara used to throw. And she certainly didn’t expect to find her wearing nothing but a pair of her new underwear, shirtless aside from Pamela’s robe, which she’d neglected to tie.

She was burning whatever she was attempting to grill, that much was obvious. But Pam still waited a beat before making her presence known. “I see you mastered the sound system.”

Harley turned; her features overtaken by a lopsided grin when she saw Pam leaning against the bi-fold doors. “Red!” she set down the spatula she’d been using as her lip-synching microphone and brought the music down a few notches from her phone. “I’m makin’ dinner for us.”

“You’re burning dinner,” Pam pointed out, nodding towards the billowing smoke.

Harley shook her head, adamant. “Tryna get that char on it, that’s all.”

“Right,” Pam smirked. “Well, I’m going to get on the treadmill for a little while, you can—,”

“No, wait, hold on!” Harley stopped her, closing the lid on the barbeque and turning the burners off before bounding over and wrapping her arms around Pamela’s waist, giving her an overzealous kiss on the cheek. “How was work?”

“Boring,” Pam answered, allowing her body to relax only slightly into the younger woman’s embrace. “Like always.”

“Oh,” Harley frowned, a bit disappointed, it seemed. “That sucks. Did you talk to Selina?”

Pam wasn’t sure where this was going, so her response was cautious. “Yes…”

“She say anything about me?”

“Like what?”

“Like…that she’s proud of me or somethin’? For takin’ Talia down?” Harley was hopeful.

Pam cleared her throat, having arrived at a crossroads that she wasn’t expecting to feel this uncomfortable. “She said keep up the good work.”

Harley smiled happily, kissing Pam on the lips this time before separating to return to her cooking. Pam took that as her cue to leave…though she did linger in the doorway for another moment, taking in Harley’s appearance with a bit more appreciation now.

“Harleen?”

The blonde’s ears perked up.

“I’d like to see you in my bedroom after you’ve finished eating whatever is left of that meat you’re abusing. And don’t change.” She added. “Come as you are.”

“Copy that, Dr. Isley,” Harley saluted her.

Pamela had to turn away before Harley could see her smile, finally starting back into the house and promising herself she’d get some actual cardio in before giving in to her more carnal desires.

“…you mean to bang, right?”

_Christ._


	13. Chapter 13

“—I want you to be excited!” Selina encouraged. “This is an incredible opportunity for you. One that few rookies get.”

“Yeah, no, I get that,” Harley was nodding, trying to accept Selina’s point of view. “I just, um, what’s he gonna ask me about? And who is he, again?”

Selina was trying to hide her frustration with how this conversation was going and Pamela was very much enjoying that aspect of it. “Luke Fox,” the brunette reiterated. “This is Sports Center, Harley. This is big.”

“And what does he wanna know about me?”

“Everything,” Selina’s exasperation was obvious at this point. “He wants to profile you. I’m trying to sell you as Talia’s replacement, so we must strike while the iron’s hot. Everybody loves you right now, Harley: bisexuals, 28 year old men who have never left their basements, lesbians—especially the 40 year old who mask their repression with promiscuity to avoid emotional intimacy demographic—you know, all the important markets.”

Pam was incensed. “Selina, I’m 35.”

“Of course you are, Pamela,” Selina placated her, moving along. “This is going to be the perfect lead-in to your fight with Stephanie next week. Just trust me, OK? Fox is a pro, you’re in good hands. There are some topics I’d like you to avoid, however.”

“Like what?” Harley wondered.

“Well, like Pam, for one,” Selina told her. “If you could keep your sexual escapades on the downlow, that would be much appreciated.”

Harley frowned. “How come? Cuz we’re both ladies and the world isn’t ready for us yet?”

“What? No.” Selina laughed. “Because Pamela is the executive in charge of performance testing in our organization and any relationship between you two would look incredibly improper to a national audience.”

Harley’s frown deepened momentarily before her expression suddenly brightened, and she turned to Pam to say, “Hey, that’s kinda hot, right?”

Pamela wasn’t going to dignify that with a verbal response…but she did offer a subtle nod, which seemed to please Harley.

“Right, so none of that,” Selina reiterated. “Keep it in your pants and don’t mention Jared’s lawsuit.” She put her reading glasses on like that would be the end of their conversation.

Harley sat up straighter, alarmed, Pamela taking a similar stance where she stood behind her. “What lawsuit?” she said, at the same time as Pam was asking, “Since when do you wear glasses?”

Selina dismissed both their concerns with a wave of her hand. “That’s not a plotline you need to be invested in.”

Pam wasn’t sure whose question that was supposed to answer, or if she’d meant it as a blanket response, but it wasn’t helpful in either context. “I’m just surprised you wouldn’t opt for contacts.”

“I only need them for reading,” Selina was defensive. “What, am I not pulling them off?”

“I think you are,” Harley decided. “I think glasses are cute, just one girl’s opinion. You should see the ones Pammy wears before bed. But anyway,” she righted her own ship. “Why are you gettin’ sued by Mistah J?”

“Oh, something about unlawful dismissal and lost wages in the form of 45 thousand dollars that seems to have disappeared from his bank account,” Selina was nonchalant. “Nothing our legal team can’t take care of. Now,” she pivoted. “I’ve scheduled the interview for tomorrow afternoon. You’ll start here at the gym and then transition back to Pamela’s house.”

“I’m sorry,” Pam felt the need to interject. “It sounded like you just implied the interview will take place in my home.”

Selina seemed unbothered; she had this all figured out. “Only part of it. Luke likes to see the athletes in their natural habitat.”

“But it’s not her natural habitat, it’s mine,” Pam reasoned. “Are you saying you’ll be kicking me out of my own house for the afternoon?”

Selina smiled, her expression cloyingly sweet, mocking. “Don’t be silly, Pamela. It’ll take place during work hours.”

/

Pamela had checked her phone at least 15 times in the past hour. This was uncharacteristic, and she was slightly concerned it might progress into a tick as she did it for the 16th time.

Harley had promised she’d text with any questions or concerns during or before the interview. She was also supposed to let Pam help her choose an outfit, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen as it was half passed 4 and the interview was supposed to start at 3. If she hadn’t chosen an outfit by now there was truly no hope for her.

With an audible sign at the lack of correspondence, Pamela set her phone down on her desk, leaning back in her chair and pushing herself away from her computer. She’d never participated in a relationship like this one. One where she felt the need to embody the role of caretaker. Really, when she thought about it, Barbara had been her most significant relationship to date and both she and Pamela were incredibly self-sufficient, leaders in their fields. Pamela would have never worried about making sure Barbara ate a nutritious dinner or that she might say or do the wrong thing around their friends or colleagues.

It’s not that Pamela typically steered clear of women like Harley—no, she often found herself drawn to them—but usually she had the self-control to keep it to a one-night affair. At this point, whatever she and Harley were engaging in was far from limited to a singular night. They hadn’t spent a night apart since it began nearly a month ago. They simply couldn’t keep their hands off each other. To Pamela, it felt like she’d been ordering dessert every night, biting into something intoxicating and sickly sweet that she knew wasn’t good for her. Even now, just thinking about it, she wanted her.

_Get a hold of yourself, Pamela._

She watched her phone on the desk in front of her, attempting to quiet her mind.

There were so many ways in which Harley was simple. Dangerously uncomplicated and oftentimes incompetent. But there remained a quiet intelligence to her, one Pam didn’t claim to understand. Harleen knew (most of the time) when to speak and when to stay quiet. She understood (for the most part) when Pamela wanted to be fucked vs made love to. But for all her evident emotional intelligence, the undercurrent of Harley was that of a perhaps stunted, childish woman who vastly preferred to speak about her trauma through her fists rather than out loud to those who could comfort her.

There was a knock at her office door. “Dr Isley?”

Pamela blinked, clearing her mental fog, grateful for the interruption. “Yes? What is it, Barbara?”

“Luke just texted me,” the younger redhead held her phone up to illustrate. “He’s all done at your house, if you want to head home.”

Puzzled, Pamela raised an eyebrow. “Why is Luke Fox contacting you about that?”

Now it was Barbara’s turn to appear confused. “Because…he’s my boyfriend. Remember?”

Pam searched her mental archives. “I do not remember having that conversation.”

“Oh,” Barbara deflated slightly. “I told you he was a big fan of Harley’s, didn’t I?”

“Huh,” Pam sat back, biting the tip of her thumb thoughtfully. “I must have assumed he was a Kate fan when you said that.”

Barbara cleared her throat when Pam didn’t continue. “In any case, they’re done. Harley was supposedly hilarious.”

_That can’t be good._

/

The interview aired the next day, and Harley made sure they had plenty of popcorn to enhance the viewing experience.

“I’d really prefer you didn’t eat that here,” Pamela complained, brushing away the crumbs that were already accumulating on her couch.

“What?” Harley shoved another handful of popcorn in her mouth. “Suddenly it ain’t my bed anymore and now I can’t eat on it either?”

“I have a kitchen for snacks,” Pam muttered, though she knew she was fighting a losing battle.

Harley ignored her, already halfway through the bag at this point. “I’m kinda nervous about this. I think I might’a said something dumb.”

“You’re aware this counts as your cheat meal, right?”

“If this is what havin’ a real mom is like, I’m not interested,” Harley huffed, snuggling back deeper into the cushions and taking her popcorn with her.

“OK, well, that’s repulsive,” Pamela stood, snatching the bag away from her and taking it to the kitchen. “I’m not interested in supervising some extreme, last minute water loss to help you make weight. Sodium is the enemy right now.”

The interview wasn’t supposed to start for another 10 minutes, but the TV was already turned on to the appropriate channel, though Pamela had muted it as she wasn’t interested in whatever “sports roundup” was happening on screen in the meantime.

Suddenly, though, Harley yelped in surprise and excitement, launching to the other side of the couch to grab the remote and turning the volume up. “Pam!” she exclaimed. “They’re talkin’ about my tiger show!”

 _“According to Shaq’s statement, he just wanted to see the animals,”_ the anchor was saying. _“He doesn’t see the cub petting as abuse. Here to comment on why something that seems so innocuous could be so harmful is renowned zoologist Dr. Barbara Ann Minerva, who is currently head researcher at Paradise Island, the largest Big Cat sanctuary in Namibia. Pleasure to have you with us, Dr. Minerva.”_

_“The pleasure is all mine. I appreciate you taking the time to highlight the severity of this issue.”_

Pamela’s blood ran cold and she gripped the edge of her countertop, rocking backwards as she groaned. “Why?”

“What?” Harley asked, though she simultaneously turned the volume up, causing Barbara’s cold British accent to again echo through Pamela’s living room.

 _“—these cubs are taken from their mothers immediately after birth,”_ Barbara was saying. _“The hope is that they’ll imprint on their human caretakers, but it robs them of the biological imperative passed down to them by means of maternal bonding.”_

 _“And that can be harmful to the cub?”_ the anchor wanted to know.

 _“Detrimental,”_ Barbara said. _“The instinct to seek out human affection is not a natural one. At Paradise Island, our Big Cats remain social to their caretakers, as most of them are rescues from poaching camps or exotic animal ownership like Mr. O’Neal was implicated in. Ultimately, once they’re stimulated by a more natural environment, we start to see them turn away from their relationships with humans and towards a more natural social order.”_

It was then Pamela realized she’d much rather be watching that sports roundup.

_“Obviously, the documentary series has created sort of a pop culture moment around all this. What’s one thing you hope to communicate to people who have the means to change the culture around the Big Cat conversation?”_

_“Exotic animals, of any kind, are not meant to be pets,”_ Barbara simply stated. _“To glorify any opinion to the contrary is deeply irresponsible, but—,”_

“Boo!” Harley muted her. “This lady sucks!”

Pamela returned to the couch with a glass of wine and some water for Harley, grateful for the quiet. “You have no idea…”

“She basically just said I’m a shitty person for wantin’ a hyena,” Harley continued. “Oh, what? She thinks she’s better than me cuz she’s got a fancy accent?”

“Well…” Pamela hated to come out on Barbara’s side, but… “The exploitation of exotic animals isn’t exactly something to—,”

“Wait, shush, Pam! It’s on!” Harley turned the volume back up and Pam let out something resembling a sigh of relief, placing Harley’s water in front of her on the coffee table and settling in to watch.

The program started in the gym, just like Selina said that it would. There was some footage of Harley training, Slade wearing mitts and leading her in a series of complicated combinations while Luke Fox’s voiceover played, explaining that, while Harley was only a rookie, she’d already made a significant impact on the super-lightweight division of women’s boxing.

“I look pretty good there, right?” Harley whispered, quietly mirroring her on-screen movements.

“Mm…mhm,” Pam agreed, gently taking Harley’s arms to still her, the blonde eventually relaxing.

Luke was in front of the camera now, speaking with Slade while Harley worked the speedbag in the background. _“I’ve been following her since the underground days, but when I saw that fight with Lance, I thought there was no way she’d be coming back this season,_ ” Luke said. _“And yet, that’s the moment you decided to get on board. Why is that? What about that fight made you think she was someone who could actually win?”_

Slade clearly disliked the question. _“She’s got a fire in her, that’s for sure.”_

…Luke had obviously been hoping for more. _“But you came out of retirement for her. What about her inspired that?”_

Slade crossed his arms, heaving a put-upon sigh. _“I don’t think it was about her, exactly, more the people she had around her. When people who you know don’t care about anyone but themselves say they suddenly believe in somebody, you take notice. Plus, you know,”_ he glanced back at Harley where she was still maintaining her tempo on the speedbag. _“She’s got a motor that won’t quit. An old-fashioned work ethic I haven’t seen in some time.”_

 _“She always gets back up,”_ Luke agreed with a smile.

 _“Yeah,”_ Slade laughed—a sound Pamela had never heard before. _“Even when she should probably stay on the mat.”_

They were in Pam’s driveway now, filming the exterior of her house. The front door opened, Harley stepping out onto the front porch and waving them inside.

The camera cut and they were inside the house now, Harley leading them up the stairs. _“So, this is my crib,”_ the on-screen Harley grinned, doing a little spin once she’d reached the 2nd floor, stepping into the open concept kitchen/living room.

The Harley sitting beside Pam on the couch giggled. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

The camera focused on the painting that hung above Pamela’s dining room table and Luke walked towards it. _“I wouldn’t have pegged you as an art collector.”_

 _“I love art,”_ Harley was nodding. _“I grew up poor, but I’m still classy.”_

Luke took a step closer to the painting, examining it more closely. _“Right, but is this an original Georgia O’Keeffe? This had to cost millions of dollars.”_

 _“It was a gift,”_ was Harley’s quick answer.

Pam was dying inside watching this exchange.

 _“That’s quite a generous gift,”_ Luke laughed.

 _“Yeah, well, they knew how much I loved paintings of…”_ Harley tilted her head like it was the first time she’d really looked at it. _“…the wonders of the female…anatomy.”_

 _“Or a flower, right?”_ Luke helped her out.

 _“Oh!”_ Realization seemed to dawn. _“Yeah, that too.”_

Pamela buried her face in her hands, experiencing secondhand embarrassment in a way she never had before.

Harley noticed she was no longer watching. “What?!” she demanded. “It totally looks like lady parts!”

For some reason, Pam found herself laughing, an expression of emotion she didn’t realize would feel foreign. “That’s definitely something you could have texted me about,” she wheezed.

And Harley was laughing too, now. “It was too late, Pammy! The cameras were already rollin’!”

“Everything you do,” Pam was shaking her head, her laughter dying slowly into a smile as she moved from her place beside Harley, straddling her now and wrestling the remote out of her hand to press ‘pause’. “Is an unmitigated disaster.”

Harley tempered her grin by biting her lip, her hands finding their way to the small of Pamela’s back. “Still workin’ on the whole ‘mind over mayhem’ thing.”

“Well…” Pamela leaned down to kiss her, slow and teasing. “I appreciate the effort.”


	14. Chapter 14

“I appreciate the hospitality. Thank you so much for the backstage pass.” Luke’s smile was charming, his eyes kind and gratitude genuine. Pamela rarely understood why women were attracted to men, as she met so few with redeeming qualities, but she supposed she could see why Barbara was proud of this one.

“No, please, it’s our pleasure,” Selina assured him. “Your Harley interview was must-see TV and we appreciate it. Front row seats are really the least we can do.”

Pamela heard Harley’s name echo over the loudspeakers as she stood in the VIP loading area with Barbara, Luke and Selina. Slade had requested she not enter through the tunnel with Harley again—evidently, he saw her as a distraction that Harley couldn’t afford right before a fight. He did, however, let her keep the ringside seat, and Selina had kicked Damian out of his so she could put Luke and Barbara there as a thank you for the flattering profile.

_DJ Khaled_

It was obvious Selina was trying not to outwardly cringe at the music cue.

_All I do is win win win no matter what_

“You guys should get in there,” Selina quickly ended their powwow, signaling the usher to take Barbara and Luke inside. “Don’t want you to miss a moment.”

_Got money on my mind I can never get enough_

Luke nodded, allowing himself to be led away by the usher, Barbara on his arm, who flashed an excited smile at Pam before she was pulled into the arena.

_And every time I step up in the buildin’_

_Everybody’s hands go up_

Selina waited until they were out of earshot before turning to Pam. “She’s literally won one match. What’s with the music choice?”

_And they stay there_

_And they stay there_

_And they stay there_

“She’s experiencing what I would describe as an excess of confidence,” Pamela attempted to explain.

_Up down_

_Up down_

_Up down_

Selina’s eyes were narrowed, now focused on the portion of the jumbotron that was visible from her vantage point. “Is she throwing money into the crowd?”

_Ludacris goin’ in on the verse_

_Cause I never been defeated and I won’t stop now_

Pam sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. But if it’s any consolation, she did budget that money for this purpose.”

_I’m on this foolish track, so I spit my foolish flow_

_My hands go up and down like stripper’s booty’s go_

Selina seemed done with their conversation. “Georgia O’Keeffe, by the way? Really, Pamela?”

_All I do is win win win no matter what_

“I’ll make sure to prep her better next time,” Pam promised, though she couldn’t fight off her own smirk.

The brunette shook her head, starting towards the elevator. “Enjoy the fight.”

Pamela watched the rest of Harley’s entrance from there, waiting for a break in the festivities to take her seat beside Barbara and Luke. In a perfect world, she wouldn’t be spending her Friday night entertaining her assistant and her assistant’s boyfriend, but clearly this world was far from perfect, so she took a deep breath, reminding herself that acting cordially towards television personalities was (for some reason) part of her job description, and began to make her way to her seat.

As soon as she was about to leave the VIP loading area for the arena, however, she felt her phone vibrate. Pamela paused, fishing her phone out of her purse because all the people that would be calling her were already settled in to watch the fight. Except, of course, for her mother. And if her mother was calling at 9pm on a Friday, it meant her father was dead.

The name on her caller ID was not Lillian Isley, however. Still, a similar lump formed in the pit of her stomach. She stared at her phone screen for a long moment as it continued to ring, briefly considering sending the call to voicemail.

But just as the thought flashed across her mind, she’d raised her phone to her ear, her finger making the decision for her as it pressed and slid the green icon.

“This is Pamela.”

 _“Oh, hello, Love,”_ the familiarity of the greeting was unnerving. _“I wasn’t sure you’d take my call.”_

“I wasn’t sure either,” Pamela’s response was truthful. “I’m not still your emergency contact, am I?”

 _“Don’t be silly,”_ she laughed. _“Have I caught you at a bad time?”_

Pam cleared her throat, leaning against the cement wall. _“_ I wouldn’t exactly call it a good time.”

 _“Bollocks, you’re probably working,”_ her self-consciousness sounded less than genuine. _“I don’t mean to be a bother, I’m just back in Gotham for the moment. Phoning for a favor.”_

“I’m sorry, I’m—I’m having a hard time hearing you,” Pamela pressed her hand to her ear when the crowd cheered for Stephanie’s entrance. “It sounded like you said you wanted a favor?”

Her chuckle came through the speaker clear as day. _“Well, you can always say no, now can’t you?”_

Pam was growing impatient. “Barbara, as much as I’d love to finish this awkward catch-up session, I’m kind of in the middle of something. What is it you want from me?”

 _“Fine, I won’t keep you,”_ Barbara acquiesced. _“I caught a jet to throw a state-side benefit gala for the eradication of private exotic animal ownership within the US. Seems your yokel’s have continued their infatuation with animal abuse, and I’d like to get some rich and influential people in a room to help deal with it.”_

Pamela rolled her eyes. “How noble of you.”

 _“I’m afraid I’ve fallen a bit out of touch with the who’s who of the city,”_ she continued. _“I was hoping you’d attend—and bring that crass friend of yours with her charming husband. Plus a date, if you can think of someone.”_

With her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose Pam said, “Have the relevant information sent over to my assistant and I’ll check my schedule.”

 _“Ah, wonderful,”_ she could hear the smile in her tone. _“I’m so looking forward to truly catching up.”_

“Right,” Pamela’s tone was clip. “We’ll be in touch, then.”

_“Yes, love, have a marvelous evening.”_

Pam hung up without a goodbye, throwing her phone back into her purse. “Have a _marvelous_ evening,” she mocked under her breath, arriving at her seat just as the bell was ringing in the first round. She settled in, watching Harley slip to the inside of Stephanie’s attempted hook, following with an uppercut of her own.

Harley was supposed to win this fight in a decision, as it was her first match up with a heroic character after receiving her villain status and Selina wanted it long and drawn out.

Luke was leaning over Barbara to talk to Pamela now. “Slade was a great choice for her.”

Pam hoped her smile was friendly when she nodded.

“You made that happen, didn’t you?”

Pamela pretended to be enthralled by Harley’s overhand punch in response to Stephanie’s attempted bob.

“That was your house, right?”

Barbara was growing uncomfortable between them as Pam continued to pseudo ignore him.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Luke offered, clapping as Harley landed a solid cross. “Your secret’s safe with me, I just know a sugar mama set up when I see one.”

“Well, aren’t you perceptive,” Pam didn’t attempt to make this smile friendly. “I guess sports reporters can be real journalists.”

“Babe,” Barbara mumbled, pushing Luke upright in his own seat. “Let’s just watch the fight.” She gave an overzealous “WOOOO!” when the end of the round was signaled, Harley having clearly won that one.

Luke leaned back this time, speaking behind Barbara now. “Listen, Dr. Isley, I mean no offense—,”

Pamela was already offended.

“—but you’ve got something special in her. I know she just got out of a shitty, exploitive situation. I’d hate to see the WBA turn her into another Jason Todd.”

“Thank you for the unsolicited advice, Mr. Fox.”

“You’re doing great, but you’ve gotta keep believing in her. Athletes are fickle like that.”

Pamela leaned over, patting the hand Luke had on the back of Barbara’s chair with palpable condescension. “Understood.”

By some miracle, Stephanie was able to hold on through the complete 10 rounds despite Harley not pulling any punches. Pamela watched her smile—relieved—as the referee raised Harley’s glove in victory, she’d certainly earned that bonus.

Harley’s victorious fist pump and head banging was still somehow enthusiastic as she sort of wobbled around the ring, milking her audience for every last scream.

Pamela stood, offering a semi-genial “pleasure to meet you, Luke,” and an “I’ll see you on Monday” to Barbara before walking towards the locker room to wait for Harley.

The blonde fell asleep on the ride home, which was against protocol, but Pam hadn’t seen her take too many shots to the head and 10 rounds was a very long time to sustain that level of energy. Once home, Pam parked in the garage, circling around to the passenger side to wake her.

Harley mumbled groggily as she was gently shaken awake, something along the lines of “did you see that shit? Took forever.”

“Come on,” Pamela helped her to her feet, letting the blonde rest against her as she guided them into the house. “You need to rehydrate.”

“Hey, Red, you proud of me?” Harley’s smile was slightly ‘out of it’.

“You worked very hard,” Pam acknowledged, laying her down in bed. She then went to retrieve a gallon jug of water that was meant to last Harley through the night and next morning without requiring her to get up.

Harley snuggled into the pillows, clothes and all, and hadn’t moved by the time Pam returned, setting the water jug on the bedside table. “Yeah, but, are ya proud of me?” Harley asked again.

Pamela wasn’t sure why she found the answer to that question so difficult to vocalize. “I am, Harley,” she finally admitted. “Please drink some water, I’ll be back with ibuprofen.”

/

Selina took her time sipping her mimosa, looking awfully pensive as she did. “I’d really rather not,” she finally decided.

Pamela had zero plans to accept that answer. “Nice try, there is no way I’m suffering through this alone. And I’ll have the farmer’s scramble,” she told the waiter who’d been patiently waiting beside their table for some time now.

“Scallops benedict, please,” Selina requested, the waiter making a note and leaving quickly afterwards.

“That sounds revolting.”

“Then I’m glad we won’t be eating off each other’s plates,” Selina downed the rest of her mimosa. “I should have asked him for a refill.”

Pamela wasn’t done arguing her case. “It’s your favorite type of party and it’s for a good cause, I shouldn’t have to twist your arm.”

“She’s such a bitch, Pam,” Selina complained. “You two aren’t even together anymore, why should I have to continue suffering through social interactions with her? Fucking philanthropists, I swear to God.”

“Bruce is a philanthropist.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“You’re going to make me show up alone to my ex fiancé’s gala? Some friend you are,” Pam huffed.

“Are we out of touch, do you think?”

“Selina, I’m serious,” Pam signaled the waiter after he’d finished taking an order at the next table over. “Can she get a refill?”

The brunette nodded gratefully at the waiter once he’d acknowledged the request. “You’re not going alone. Harley will be there.”

Pam scoffed. “There are no circumstances under which I’d bring Harley.”

“Maybe she cleans up nice.”

“She has a tattoo that says _Daddy’s Little Monster_ under her right breast.”

Selina cleared her throat, taking that into consideration. “That’s unfortunate.”

“It is.”

They waited for Selina’s next mimosa to be delivered before either spoke again. “Alright,” Selina eventually told her. “I’ll go, and I’ll drag Bruce along with me.”

Pamela breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“But only if Harley comes too,” Selina finished. “That’s my one condition.”

“Why in the world would you want that?” 

“For the comedic value,” She answered like it was obvious.

/

“They gonna have food there?” Harley asked from where she was lying on a yoga mat in the living room, holding an ice pack to her badly bruised abdomen.

“Yes,” Pam adjusted her glasses to look more closely at the invitation. “It says it’s a ‘watering hole’ theme.”

Harley frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ll be contemplating suicide the whole time, but there will be food. And alcohol, God willing.”

That answer made sense to Harley, so she nodded, moving the ice pack a bit higher so she could pull one of her knees to her chest to stretch her glute and hamstring. “Do I gotta dress up?”

“Yes, you _have_ to dress up,” Pamela answered her question while correcting her grammar. “I’ll be wearing black since I’m treating it as a funeral for my self-respect.”

Harley switched legs, now deep in thought. “Are we gonna match?”

Pam glanced at her in that position just long enough to almost lose her train of thought. “Some color coordination would be appreciated.”

“Can I wear animal print cuz it’s for tigers and stuff?”

Pamela set down the invitation, considering the request and wondering if she had time for an orgasm before she had to leave for the office. “If it’s subtle.”


	15. Chapter 15

Pamela was still staring at herself in the mirror the 5th time Harley knocked on the bathroom door. It had taken her longer than usual to get ready, mostly because she’d used that extra time to brainstorm ways to get out of this whole ordeal.

“You don’t wanna be late, do ya, Red?”

She’d opted not to buy a new dress, instead choosing something tried and true from her closet that she was confident Barbara wouldn’t recognize. It was relatively simple but effective—form fitting, with a plunging neckline that made a statement but was still appropriate for the setting. She’d paired the dress with some “tiger eye” earrings, which was the extent of her commitment to the theme.

Harley had done her own shopping during Pamela’s work hours and had composed herself in the guest bathroom, so Pamela finally opening the door, as satisfied as she could be with her own appearance, was the first glimpse she got of her.

…and it was immediately clear she’d misunderstood the assignment.

“Harleen, I said subtle.”

Harley was wearing a skintight, bikini strapped, leopard print cocktail dress that ended a good 6 inches above her knee.

“What?” Harley complained, glancing down at herself. “I think I look hot.”

“I’m not disputing that,” Pam admitted. “But something with sleeves would have been nice.”

“But—but how am I s’posed ta hand out tickets to the gun show, then?” Harley illustrated her point by flexing.

“If not for the tattoos, I’d allow it.”

Harley pouted. “Well, I got a zebra jacket. It’s leather too, so—,”

“I have a blazer for you,” Pam saved Harley from herself, moving past her and into her closet to retrieve one of her black blazers. “I hope this fits.”

…it didn’t, it was very tight on Harley’s shoulders which restricted her range of motion, but maybe that was a good thing.

They were already in the car before Pam realized Harley was wearing a pair of red, high top converse, and by that point it was too late.

“Why are you bein’ so weird about this?” Harley wondered, watching Pam’s index and middle finger tap nervously on the steering while they waited for their light to change from red to green.

Pam cleared her throat, gaze on the traffic light unwavering. “I didn’t think I’d ever have to see her again.”

“Who?”

“Barbara.”

Harley was clearly confused. “We just saw her yesterday.”

“What do you mean?”

“At work?” Harley prompted. “I saw you say goodnight in the parkin’ lot.”

Now it was Pamela’s turn to be confused for a moment. “Oh!” she identified the miscommunication. “No, that’s my assistant Barbara.”

“Right, Babs. Barby G—,”

“That’s absolutely not a thing.”

“—she’s super cool. I don’t get why you’re so nervous to see your assistant.”

“No, Harley, you’re not listening,” Pam set her straight. “I was engaged to a woman named Barbara. Dr. Barbara Ann Minerva. She lives in Africa now and returned briefly to throw this soiree.”

Harley’s mind seemed sufficiently blown. “You mean the boring lady from the TV who was shittin’ on my tiger show?”

“The very same. I swear we’ve already had this conversation.”

“I thought you meant Babs!”

“You thought I was previously engaged to my assistant?”

Harley shrugged. “She’s cute.”

Pam opened her mouth to say something else, but nothing materialized, so she closed it again.

“How come there are so many ladies named Barbara?” Harley wasn’t ready to put this to bed yet.

“I’m not sure, ask their parents.”

“Just seems unnecessarily confusin’.”

“Fine,” Pam acquiesced with a put-upon sigh. “My assistant will remain Barbara and we can call my ex Barbara Ann. Better?”

That seemed to satisfy Harley. “Yeah, OK, deal.”

“Anyway…” Pam pulled to the back of the valet line. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed on your best behavior tonight.”

Harley was staring in awe up at the illuminated Gotham Museum of Natural History. “Sure, whatever you say, Red.”

That response didn’t exactly instill confidence in Pam as she handed her keys off to one of the valets, stepping out of her car and taking a deep breath before Harley joined her.

Harley smiled, offering her arm for the long ascent up the front steps. “Let’s just have fun.”

And Pam smiled back, although ‘having fun’ usually wasn’t something that happened at these stuffy galas. She supposed she could try, as long as they put up a united front.

…that united front ended almost immediately once they were inside. They stood, together in the entrance, surveying the other formally dressed guests, all with some silly homage to the theme incorporated into their outfits. Harley’s eyes went wide with awe at the African Bush Elephant display in the center of the room.

Pam found Harley’s child-like reaction to all of it endearing, until the younger woman’s focus was stolen by a waiter walking by with a tray of Hors d’oeuves.

“Food!” was all she said, and then she was gone.

“Harleen, goddamn it!” Pam whisper-yelled after her. But she was gone, lost to the refreshments.

“There you are, thank God,” Selina was suddenly beside her, looking fabulous as usual in a sleek, floor length purple gown. “We just escaped a 20-minute conversation with Oswald Cobblepot. It was torture.”

Bruce was nodding solemnly, confirming Selina’s version of events.

“I was about this close to stabbing him with his own stupid umbrella,” Selina continued. “It’s not even raining, what’s going on with that?”

Pam was scanning the crowd, trying not to let her mutual relief at seeing Selina be too obvious. “How’d Roman Sionis get an invite?”

“He’s rich,” Selina reasoned.

“He’s an asshole,” Pam said.

“The two often go hand-in-hand,” was Bruce’s contribution to the conversation.

“Shit,” Selina cursed, turning towards Pam. “It’s Harvey Dent. I’m about to be sucked into an hour-long bro fest.”

It wasn’t until Bruce was dragging her towards Harvey that Pam noticed the cat ears perched atop Selina’s head, a rather sarcastic nod to the theme.

That made Pamela smile…and then just as quickly, her smile was gone.

Barbara Ann was standing across the room in a cheetah print blouse tucked into an expertly tailored pair of tapered tuxedo slacks. The blazer that went with the ensemble was draped casually over her shoulders, though her arms weren’t threaded through the sleeves. She held a glass of champagne in one hand, the other playing absently with a strand of blonde hair that curtained her face, escaping her simple, formal up-do.

She and another woman, a rather stunning raven-haired beauty in a sparkling, off the shoulder gown, were engaged in a conversation with the man Pamela recognized as Police Commissioner Jim Gordon. How he’d ended up with an invite, she had no idea.

Barbara Ann began to glance around, having grown bored of the conversation while the other woman remained involved.

They were looking at each other now, Pamela and Barbara Ann, recognition immediate. The blonde smiled, raising a glass in greeting. Pamela would have returned the gesture, but she didn’t have a drink yet.

As Pamela watched, Barbara Ann leaned into a passing waitress, pointing Pam out to her. The waitress then crossed the room with her tray of champagne glasses, stopping long enough for Pam to take one.

Pam glanced in the direction Harley had wandered, considering whether she should take two glasses, but Harley was no where to be found, so she settled on one.

Barbara Ann and the dark-haired woman were making their way over to her now, weaving between their guests.

“Goddamn it, Harley,” Pamela repeated, but under her breath and to herself this time.

“Dr. Isley, as I live and breathe,” Barbara was upon her now, having cornered her prey. “So glad you made it,” she leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks, which Pamela reciprocated, hoping the movement looked natural.

“It’s been a while,” Pam smiled, looking from Barbara to the other woman. “I thought I wouldn’t see you back here.”

“Yes, well, you were hoping I’d be mauled to death by my cheetahs, remember?” Barbara mocked. “I’m sure my return is a severe disappointment.”

“That’s certainly one word for it,” Pam agreed. “And who’s this?”

“This is my partner, Diana Prince,” Barbara announced, like the woman standing beside her was actual royalty. “Diana, this is—,”

“Yes, I know, Darling,” Diana stopped her, and when she smiled Pam felt like the window had been opened to let the sun stream in. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, Pamela. You’re somehow even lovelier than Barbara described you to be.” She spoke with a strange accent, one Pam couldn’t immediately identify, but she found herself mesmerized by the quality of her voice.

“Well, that’s…well this is great,” Pam rephrased, glancing between the two and making she and Diana’s handshake stretch on for far too long. “How’d you—you found her in Namibia?”

“She was just passing through,” Barbara explained.

“Just passing through…Namibia,” Pamela reiterated.

“I became something of a frequent traveler after leaving the UN and transitioning to full-time philanthropy,” Diana told her. “The humane treatment of animals has always been a cause near and dear to my heart. These magnificent creatures deserve more respect than they’re paid.”

“Mhm, yes, absolutely,” Pam was nodding. “Just to clarify, when you say ‘UN’ you’re referring to the United Nations?”

“Yes,” Diana confirmed. “I was assigned to the Blue Berets for peacekeeping missions after finishing my 2nd tour in the Hellenic Air Force.”

Pam really wanted to get this right so she could complain to Selina later. “So, you’re a former Grecian fighter pilot turned international peacekeeper who quit so she could spend more time donating money to charitable causes.”

“Yes,” Diana laughed; the sound warm like a shawl Pamela wished she could wrap herself in. “Seems you’ve successfully memorized my resume.”

“But enough about us,” Barbara was saying. “Did you bring a date? I was hoping to meet them.”

 _Did I bring a date?_ Pamela thought long and hard about the answer to that question. “You know, I did. I did do that. I did bring a date. I’m just not sure where she…”

Barbara and Diana followed her gaze. “Is that her there?” Barbara asked. “The woman putting her mouth directly on the chocolate fountain?”

The three of them watched Harley as she wiped her face with a napkin, only succeeding in getting about half the chocolate off, before briefly searching for a trash can, giving up, and stuffing the dirty napkin in the pocket of Pamela’s blazer.

Pamela cleared her throat, side stepping to obscure their view of her. “This isn’t exactly her scene,” she attempted to explain.

Barbara’s brow was furrowed, more puzzled than upset. “Did she not see the fondue forks?”

“I very much doubt she knows what a fondue fork is,” Pam admitted. “In any case, she’s very successful in her field.”

“And what field is that?” Barbara wondered.

“Well, there’s a…combat, element to it.”

“Is she a soldier?” Diana wondered. “I worked closely with American forces in—,”

“She’s another one of your boxers, isn’t she?” Barbara asked, the question rhetorical. “Still shitting where you eat, then?”

It took every ounce of Pamela’s self-control not to lash out at that retort. “Unfortunately, Greek Goddesses don’t grow on trees,” was the response she went with instead.

Diana seemed to fall back into her peacekeeping role rather easily. “I’d love to be introduced. Her shoes are so fun!”

Pamela had forgotten about the converse until now. _Why, Harley? Why?_

“Why don’t you wrangle her, and we’ll chat later?” Barbara suggested. “We should probably continue on our rounds for a while longer.”

“Of course,” Pam tried to sound casual about it. “Don’t let me keep you.” And with that, she turned, heading straight for Harley. She immediately grabbed a fondue fork from the table, snatching the strawberry from Harley’s hand and stabbing it before handing the fork to Harley. “That’s not sanitary,” she hissed, trying to keep her body language relaxed in case Barbara Ann or Diana were still watching.

Harley used the fork this time, drenching her strawberry in the chocolate before shoving the whole thing into her mouth. With her gaping maw full, she asked, “How come you’re in a bad mood? This party is awesome!”

“I’m going to have to disagree with you there,” Pam handed her another napkin.

Harley remained unconcerned with Pam’s frustration. “I saw Selina and Bruce. Plus, some weird guy in a bolo hat asked me a riddle.”

“Sounds like you’ve had quite the evening.”

“Yeah,” Harley agreed with a nod. “Not-your-assistant Barbara really knows how to throw a party. I’ve never been ta anything so fancy before.”

Pamela felt her anger begin to leave her, replaced with something like depressed acceptance. What she was depressed about, however, she really didn’t know. “How was the strawberry?”

“Oh, so good, Red,” Harley told her like she was passing along vital information. “You look real pretty, by the way,” she stabbed another strawberry with her fork. “I think you’re the prettiest one here.”

Pamela took a deep breath to center herself, and then leaned forward, wiping some errant chocolate from Harley’s cheek with her thumb before kissing her gently. “Come on, let’s go rescue Selina from the District Attorney.”

Selina was giving some desperate ‘help me’ eyes across the sea of impeccably dressed people, so Pam took Harley by the hand and forged ahead.

“Harvey Dent,” Pamela interrupted whatever conversation he and Bruce were having, causing enough distraction for Selina to take a step away from Bruce and towards Harley, setting up her escape. “I wasn’t aware you cared so dearly for the humane treatment of domesticated exotic animals. How moving.”

And now only she existed to him, the District Attorney puffing his chest and turning up the charm in his smile. “Pamela. I was hoping I’d—I wasn’t sure you’d—you’re looking well,” was what he finally landed on. “Did you get my voicemail? You haven’t—,”

“I did get your voicemail,” Pamela confirmed, not terribly interested in rehashing this. “I appreciate the offer, but remain a lesbian, I’m afraid.”

Harvey faltered. “Yes, of course, I was just—I thought there was, perhaps, a chance men interested you…as well?”

“Not in this universe, sweetheart,” Pam leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek. “But keep up the good work. For the betterment of humanity and…exotic animals, I suppose.” She glanced over her shoulder, seeing Harley and Selina had arrived safely back at the refreshments table. “Pleasure to see you, as always.” Bruce was covering his mouth to hide his smile beside them. “Bruce,” she offered as she departed, flashing him a smile of her own.

She was almost to safety herself when she ran into Kate.

_Are you kidding me?_

“Harley Quinzel, seriously?”

_Why in god’s name would Barbara invite Kate?_

“Under no circumstances would it be appropriate for you to judge my romantic decisions,” Pam snapped, trying to brush past her, though Kate grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Pam yanked her arm away. “Where’s your wife?”

"Getting a drink,” Kate straightened her bow tie.

“Well, how about you go get a handle on that rather than butting into my personal life,” Pam suggested. “You made it very clear you wanted to keep things professional between us. So here I am, being professional.”

“Yeah and hooking up with someone else.”

Pam was borderline appalled. “Are you and Renee not _hooking up_ , Katherine?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to start fucking you again, I just want you to start making some more responsible life decisions.”

“I don’t even listen to the mother I have, so I’m going to walk away now,” Pamela intoned. “And you’re going to continue enjoying this party that was clearly designed as a torture device for me.”

Selina’s eyebrow was raised by the time Pam finally made it over to them. “What the fuck was that about?”

“Great question,” Pamela snatched another glass of champagne from a passing waiter, downing most of it and offering the rest to Harley, who finished it in one gulp.

By the time Pamela had found the pathway to the rooftop garden, she felt completely done with this night. Coming was a mistake, she’d known this would be bad for her, and yet…here she was. Why? Perhaps the remnants of her debutante days were making themselves known, or perhaps she’d just been curious.

She had no idea why Barbara Ann still interested her. Any romantic feelings she’d once harbored were obviously gone by this point, but it had all ended so suddenly, it made it nearly impossible for Pamela to blackball her from her thoughts completely. Pamela remembered waking up, Barbara beside her, and sliding her engagement ring onto her finger. She remembered how it shimmered in the morning light. And then Barbara was gone. The bed was empty, all the odd tribal decorations stripped from the living room…Obviously there had been time in between, but unless she really dwelled on it, it felt as though that tape had been deleted. What followed was anger…and resentment…and Kate. It wasn’t a period of her life that Pamela was terribly proud of.

Pam just wanted to be alone for a moment, but of course, she wasn’t.

“Seeking respite from your own party?”

Barbara Ann glanced back at her from where she sat on a stone wall dividing two garden beds. “Finally through with my rounds. I think I’ve earned a little respite. What’s your excuse?”

“Oh, well see, I was going to marry the woman who threw this party,” Pamela joked, approaching slowly. “Instead, she lives in Africa now and came here tonight with a divine creature clearly molded from clay on her arm. Meanwhile, I’m fucking a 23-year-old who does her own tattoos…despite not being a tattoo artist.”

“How mortifying,” Barbara smiled, offering Pamela the bottle of champagne she’d been drinking from. “You may need this more than me, in that case.”

Pamela accepted it gratefully, taking a swig before gathering up her skirt to sit next to her. “You seem happy.”

“So do you, for the record,” Barbara took the bottle back from her.

Chuckling, Pamela said, “That can’t be right.”

Barbara raised an eyebrow, taking another drink. “You’re lying to me. You fancy that 23-year-old failure of a tattoo artist. I can tell.” 

Pam squinted, showing “just a bit” between her index finger and thumb.

A moment of silence passed between them. One that was long, but not altogether uncomfortable.

“So,” it was Pamela who spoke first. “Is Namibia everything you hoped it would be?”

Barbara laughed, searching Pam’s face for the truth as she did. “You don’t give a solitary fuck about my life in Namibia. We may as well pay each other the kindness of honesty.”

Pamela was surprised by her word choice. “Kindness? Since when is that a concept you’re familiar with?”

Pursing her lips, Barbara’s gaze shifted from Pamela to the Gotham City skyline. “That’s the answer, by the way.”

“What answer?”

“To the _why we didn’t work out_ question I’m sure you’ve asked yourself,” Barbara clarified, the champagne halfway gone by this point. “We’re not kind people, you and I.”

Pam could see her office from here. Wayne tower stood, stoic in the night, completely dark by this point. The arena silent next to it. “I can be kind…”

“Don’t be daft, love. It’s not a matter of what you ‘can’ do. I didn’t need nurturing, so you weren’t kind to me. Just like you didn’t need rescuing,” Barbara’s tone was wistful. “What magnificent people we’d be if we had the same patience for humans as you do plants and I do animals.”

Pamela’s finger ran absently up the stem of a Libertia growing nearby. “Diana doesn’t strike me as someone in need of rescuing, either.”

“No,” Barbara agreed. “Seems I was the stray. If it wasn’t for her, I might still be lamenting your betrayal.”

“Barbara…” Pamela briefly saw her the way she used to, fair features soft in the moonlight, one blonde curl rebelling from her updo, trailing down her neck. “We fell out of love long before I found Kate.”

She turned to give Pam the same attention. “And when were you going to tell me that?”

They allowed that to hang between them, the muffled sounds of the gala behind them and the cars on the streets below suddenly loud in the absence of their conversation. 

“I donate $500 to your sanctuary every month,” Pam wasn’t sure why that had felt like a secret she’d needed to keep. “I know you don’t need me telling you this, but what you’re doing is brave and important.”

Barbara laughed, a genuine humor in the sound. “I seem to remember a Dr. Isley with a similar ambition.”

“Yes, well, why would I try to save the world when I could instead dedicate my life to helping only certain people cheat at sports?”

The blonde was shaking her head, though a smile still graced her lips. “You’re never as miserable as you think you are, Pamela. Though, I maintain your self-importance is astounding.”

Pam scoffed. “Like you’re any better.”

“I’m not,” Barbara seconded. “And it wasn’t until I stopped selling out and started doing something actually important that I realized that.”

Pam took the bottle back from her. “What a shame I wasn’t graced with your enlightenment.”

“It’s not mine,” Barbara set the record straight. “It’s a gift Diana gave me. None of this is me,” she gestured behind them at the party that continued without them. “Not the gala, not your invite, the cause is hardly even mine. I’d be happy to continue aimlessly adventuring, but then what would I ever accomplish? I finally have a true north, and her name is Diana Prince.”

“Well,” Pam took another drink, then set the bottle upright between them, leaning back on her hands. “I’m sorry I made a poor compass. And, for the record, if I ever said something that sentimental, you’d call me a ‘wanker’.”

Barbara mirrored Pam’s body language, nudging her with her shoulder. “You really could be such a bloody wanker sometimes.”

Perhaps it was because Pam was on her way to drunk, but she’d quietly begun to feel like the weight that had been placed on her shoulders upon entering the museum earlier that night had been lifted. Pound by pound, that debilitating emotional exhaustion had left her. And now here she was, sharing a bottle of champagne with a woman whose presence she’d dreaded nearly every moment before this one.

“I have a text from you that says ‘it must be terrible living inside your head, but that can’t possibly be as bad as living with you’,” Pam said, quieter now. “Was it all terrible? Are Harley and I going to make each other just as miserable as we did?”

“Of course it wasn’t all terrible, love,” Barbara said. “I wouldn’t have asked to marry you if I didn’t believe you were worth the effort. Too bad I’m merely a mortal who can’t subsist solely on sexual chemistry and intellectual curiosity. There’s only so many ways to tie a girl up before she craves a deeper connection.”

“And Diana gives you that?” Pam wondered.

“She gives me both,” Barbara winked.

“Hey, Red? You out here?”

Both women looked towards the source of the sound, watching Harley emerge from the building and scan the area, her blazer at this point discarded.

“Blimey, those tattoos _are_ awful,” Barbara giggled before Pam waved the younger woman over.

“Over here, Harl.”

“Hey!” Harley jogged over. “Selina left n’ I got bored. Can we go home soon? As long as you’re done making your ex jealous or whatever.”

 _If she could just say one right thing…_ “Sure,” Pam granted. “But first, I wanted to introduce you to not-my-assistant Barbara.”

Harley cringed, realizing her mistake, and then briefly studied the woman next to her with something approaching a critical eye. “I saw you on TV. I was thinkin’ maybe I wanted a hyena, but I guess that’s not cool, huh?”

“It’s definitely not cool,” Barbara confirmed. “And they’re a tad dodgy anyway, not sure they’d make great pets.”

Harley crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. “I saw a video of one splashing around in a bath one time, so I think it depends on the hyena.”

Barbara seemed to agree. “I, too, have seen that video. It’s very cute.”

Harley tried twisting her mouth to hide her smile. “I’m glad you guys broke up because…I actually really like Pammy. So, thanks, I guess.”

“She likes you too,” Barbara stage-whispered before Pam could interrupt. “And she needs you to drive her home, she’s had far too much champagne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My girlfriend did some Timm/Dini inspired doodling while I wrote this one: 
> 
> [](https://ibb.co/z8m5qw2)  
> 
> 
> If any of y'all are bored or inspired during quarantine and have your own version, I'd love to see it! If you tag me on tumblr (@bball1997) or twitter (@a_zoan) I'll post it with the next chapter :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Purple Lamborghini by Skrillex and Rick Ross

Harley was trying very hard to keep her body from convulsing. She was sweating, hand fisting so tightly in the sheets she’d begun to pull the bedding away from the mattress. 

Pamela’s lips stayed pressed against her when she said, “it’s so much better once you relax, Darling,” which seemed to only succeed in winding Harley’s body tighter. “Harl,” she chuckled softly, finally pulling her mouth away and giving the younger woman some respite from her heightened state of arousal. “You’re going to pull a muscle.”

“Ugh,” Harley groaned, rolling over onto her stomach. “It’s a muscle I wanna pull. Come on, can ya just finish me off?”

Pamela crawled over her, planting a teasing kiss at the nape of her neck. “No,” she whispered, breath hot against Harley’s ear. “You’re going to learn to enjoy your own pleasure if it’s the only valuable lesson I teach you.” And with that, Pam withdrew, climbing out of bed and retrieving the water glass she’d left in the bathroom, wiping her mouth before taking a drink.

Harley punched the soft comforter in frustration, though the attack hardly made a sound. “Screw you!”

“You already did,” Pam set the now half-empty water glass down on Harley’s side of the table, handing her the towel. “It’s supposed to be your turn.”

“Yeah, no shit!” Harley complained, turning to snatch the towel from her. “So I can’t make it happen with just mouth stuff, so what?”

Pamela made sure to fluff the pillows before she laid back down, turning on her side and resting a hand on Harley’s bare chest that was still rising and falling rapidly with her labored breathing. “Just because it’s never happened before doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Letting me pay you that sort of attention for as long as it takes requires a level of confidence it doesn’t seem you’ve achieved yet.”

The blonde roughly brushed her matted bangs away from her forehead. “You’re talkin’ nonsense ta me.”

Laughing, Pamela began trailing her fingers from Harley’s collarbone, over her chest and down to her hips before turning back again, following a slightly different path each time. “I take it Jared didn’t give many successful oral reports.”

“How should I know how he did in school?”

Pam considered. “You know what? That one’s on me.”

Harley sighed, long and loud and drawn out. “I’m sorry. I’m just…not used to it, is all. You’re the only lady I’ve ever been with just you and me and…before it was never, like, about me, ya know?”

Pam propped herself up on one elbow. “No, I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I met Mistah J when I was 16,” Harley began to explain. “So I was never really with anybody else, but he knew I kinda liked girls so sometimes he’d invite somebody over to—ya know—be with him. Both of us, I mean.”

It took a moment for Pam to determine how best to respond. “And did you like that?”

Harley shrugged. “Sometimes, I guess. But he never really cared when I was in the mood and sometimes I got tired of preformin’.”

“Harleen, I’m…I’m very sorry you had to experience that,” Pam told her. “It sounds like a very unhealthy situation.”

Again, she shrugged. “It wasn’t all bad. There was worse stuff before that, but I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

Pam just nodded.

“And plus, if Mistah J hadn’t found me, I prolly wouldn’t’a started fightin’,” Harley pointed out, propping herself up to mirror Pam. “Then I wouldn’t’a met you, and I wouldn’t get to go to fancy parties and make a ton’a money and live in this fancy house.” Harley grinned, and Pam couldn’t help but smile back. “I think, even when things are shitty, they gotta happen for a reason, right?”

Now it was Pam’s turn to shrug. “I suppose that depends on your belief system.”

“You mean like church and stuff?”

“Among other things.”

“Pop always said that shit’s for the Irish,” Harley dropped back onto the mattress, moving in to snuggle against Pam’s breast.

“Yes, well…” Pam relaxed in turn, wrapping Harley up in her arms and closing her eyes as she sunk into the downy pillows. “He also tried to have you killed, so perhaps it’s best we don’t take his prejudice to heart.”

“I saw your ma called again,” Harley said. “I didn’t answer, though, cuz you told me not to.”

“Thank you,” Pam acknowledged. “And I listened to the voicemail. You didn’t miss anything interesting; I promise.”

Harley was quiet for a moment, the crickets outside Pam’s bedroom window briefly punctuating their silence. “Do you hate her?”

“No,” Pamela decided after a pause of her own. “Hate requires a passion that I haven’t the time for. I just don’t care about her anymore, same as she never truly cared about me.”

She could feel the furrow in Harley’s brow against her neck. “How come she calls so much if she doesn’t care?”

“She’s frightened,” was Pam’s simple answer. “My father is dying, and she’ll soon be left alone.”

“That’s sad,” Harley decided. “She must really love him.”

“Oh, goodness no,” Pamela laughed. “She’s 20 years younger than him and didn’t ever want to have to work in her life. That’s their love story.”

“I mean…you’re a few years older than me, right? Like 12?” 

_Fuck, I might need a therapist._

Pamela decided actions would speak louder than words, so she pushed Harley away from her, assuming her earlier position between her legs before the blonde could protest. “We’re going to give this another shot.”

“Alright!” Harley clapped once, hard and loud to psych herself up, accepting her mission. “I got this!”

“You’ve got this,” Pam settled in. “Just enjoy it.”

/

“Assistant Barbara, I need you in here,” Pamela released the intercom button and the younger redhead appeared in the doorway a moment later, padfolio in hand.

“Is there another—?”

“Barbara, what’s your middle name?” Pam asked, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, expression inscrutable.

The question seemed to catch Barbara off guard. “I don’t—um—don’t have one, Ma’am.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Pam laughed, pushing those glasses up the bridge of her nose. “It’s a new look I’m trying,” she explained before the question was asked. “Listen, I need you to put me on Bruce’s schedule today. He’s purposefully slow-balling a response to my funding request.”

“Oh, shoot, did you not get that email?” Barbara asked, opening her padfolio to retrieve a paper copy. “He denied that request.”

Pamela stood to snatch the paper away from her, giving it a quick read before balling it up and tossing it in the waste bin. “Bastard,” she said…before walking over to the balled-up paper and moving it to the recycling. “Fine,” she decided. “Put me on Selina’s schedule, then.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barbara said, making a quick note for herself. “Any particular reason?”

“I just want to make sure there won’t be any surprises with the schedule,” Pamela explained, grabbing her blazer from the back of her chair and brushing past Barbara on her way out of the office. “Walk with me,” she instructed, forcing Barbara to jog a few steps to catch up. “Do you think I’m kind?”

“No, Ma’am,” was Barbara’s quick answer, but when Pamela stopped dead in her tracks in the middle of the hallway, she quickly covered with, “But it’s hot, like Miranda Priestly vibes.”

Pam regarded her critically. “I don’t know the reference.”

“She’s a Meryl Streep character.”

“Oh,” Pam’s icy expression immediately gave way to a smile. “Well that is complimentary,” she started walking again, on her way to the elevator. “Are you hungry?”

“Um, not really, I just a—,”

“Lunch is on me,” Pam announced, not interested in her complete answer. She pressed the elevator’s ‘down’ button and they waited. “I was hoping to discuss a few topics outside the realm of what’s considered strictly ‘professional’, if that doesn’t make you too uncomfortable.”

Barbara crossed her arms, eyebrow raising in turn as they stepped into the elevator together. “Isn’t this the kind of conversation you should be having with a friend? Like Selina?”

Pam scoffed. “And let her see me emotionally vulnerable? I think not.”

“OK, well, Can I call you Pamela?”

Pam pursed her lips, considering the request. “Yes, you may. As long as you tell me why your friends call you ‘Babs’ rather than ‘Barb’.”

“I don’t know the answer to that question.”

“Fine,” Pam acquiesced. “I recently joined Twitter and it was suggested I follow a ‘BarbieG’, is that you?”

“It is.”

“And may I follow you on Twitter?”

Barbara shrugged. “I mean, I mostly just bitch about my boss on there…” she smiled when Pam got the joke. “Yeah, but what’s going on here, are you dying? Be honest. You can trust me. And I know you don’t have a will, so we need to start that process yesterday.”

“I’m not dying,” Pam assured her. “Although it’s slightly concerning that’s the first place your mind goes when I offer to buy you lunch,” they exited the elevator, Pam leading them out of Wayne tower and down the street. “No, I think I might—well, I don’t know, really, it’s complicated.”

“Isn’t everything?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Pam disagreed. “And it’s unfortunate because I’ve worked very hard to keep certain aspects of my life as uncomplicated as possible.”

Barbara was slightly distracted as she looked for a restaurant or food cart. “Right…what are you hungry for?”

Pam waved her off. “Whatever you want, I’m not eating. But anyway, I feel as though whatever sort of relationship Harley and I have cultivated is—I’m not sure—evolving? And I’m not—I can’t be sure that’s something I’m comfortable with.”

Barbara frowned, getting in line for a hotdog “What do you mean?”

“Well, I just—it doesn’t feel like an affair anymore,” Pam attempted to explain. “I spoke with my ex at her gala, which your father was at, by the way, and she made it clear she’d moved on, so…that means what Harley and I have is an actual relationship. Like, we’re dating…but she lives with me.”

“Right…” Barbara repeated, nodding slowly. “Seems like you skipped a few steps.”

“Yes!” Pamela was relieved Barbara seemed to see things the same way. “And she’s not exactly the type of woman I’d aim to take those steps with in the first place, but now that we’ve skipped them…I’m having a difficult time not…”

“Just one with mustard,” Barbara ordered. “Feeling romantic towards her?” she guessed at the end of Pam’s sentence.

Pamela paid the $3.00 they owed, groaning as she did, though at her romantic predicament, not the reasonably priced hotdog. “I’d really prefer it just be about sex.”

“Ah, so that’s what you meant by outside the realm of strictly—,”

“But last night she came on my tongue for the first—,”

“—‘professional’.”

“—time and it was so moving for her that—,”

“Here you go, lady,” the hot dog vendor handed Barbara her food.

“—I nearly felt like crying.”

“Yeah, wow,” Barbara took a bite. “That’s a lot. A lot of complicated emotions for you, a lot of information for me…”

Pam turned, leading them back to the tower, walking slower this time to allow Barbara time to eat her meal. “It takes work to be with someone.”

Barbara nodded. “It does.”

They walked in silence for a moment before Pam asked, “Why did you and Dick break up?”

“He was done with me,” Barbara was flippant. “Ready to move on to bigger and better things. Who knows. It’s not his fault that everyone loves him, he just…wasn’t always great at loving me.”

Now it was Pam’s turn to nod, turning that answer over in her mind. “And you’re happier now? With Luke?”

The smile that spread over Barbara’s face at the mention of Luke’s name was something she appeared to have little control over. “He has a lot more time for me. And energy. And interest, honestly,” she laughed. “I didn’t think I was ready. I was with Dick for a long time, but Luke, he’s just…right, I guess.”

They stopped short of the rotating tower doors, Barbara throwing away the tinfoil that had wrapped her hotdog.

“I think Harley’s kind,” Barbara told her, circling back to Pam’s earlier question. “Maybe she can make up for what you’re missing. Maybe you two would be a complete disaster. Anything’s possible, I guess, but you won’t know unless you actually give her a shot.”

Pam bit her lip, basking in something between hope and dread for what felt like too long. “Maybe we can make lunches a weekly thing,” she cut short her own thought process. “There’s a chance you may be wise, and it turns out I don’t have any friends.”

/

Harley bounced from one foot to the other, eyes closed, hitting her open palm with her closed fist again and again as she attempted to visualize her victory, step by step, hit by hit, slip by slip. It was a technique Slade had taught her, and one she’d been working very hard to incorporate into her pre-fight ritual.

“Alright,” Slade grabbed the blonde’s shoulders once Tatsu’s entrance song ended. “Remember what we talked about, Kid. Stay in it. She’s quick, but she doesn’t have your power. Once you find your opening, capitalize. It should only take one.”

Harley let her body be still as Slade squeezed her, planting her feet firmly on the ground, cracking her knuckles and then her neck. She took a deep breath, and then opened her eyes, looking past Slade to where Pam was watching silently. Her painted red lips stretched into a grin. “I got this,” she said, pupils constricting as the spotlight found her.

Pam smiled back. “Just enjoy it,” she even added a wink for good measure, desperately wanting Harley to understand the reference. They so often went over her head.

_Biggest boss and I been the trillest_

_I’m a bigger problem when I click with Skrillex_

Harley backed out of the tunnel, giving Pam a thumbs up as the crowd roared.

_Murder on my mind it’s time to pray to god_

_My revolver is not religious, the revolution’s born_

She finally turned, waving her arms as she did, bouncing with the energy of the arena, fanning the excitement around her, her fans impossibly louder at each indication that she was here for them—she was here to perform. Whether or not it was what Selina had intended, Harley was the people’s villain now. But they didn’t love to hate her like they had Talia, they were rooting for her. She was their anti-hero.

_Pistol on my waist I might make a mistake_

_Dead shot, head shot, oh my god, am I crazy?_

Harley grabbed a t-shirt cannon from an arena employee, firing a shot from her hip that landed somewhere deep in the upper balcony.

_Ain’t no mercy, got that purple Lamborghini lurkin’_

_Rozay, don’t you know that pussy worth it_

She raised her fingers to her mouth, creating a v to wiggle her tongue through.

“Fuckin’ A, Harley,” Slade complained. He turned to Pam briefly before following Harley out of the tunnel to say, “that one’s on you.”

“I’m certainly not ashamed!” Pam called after him.

_Killers everywhere, ain’t no place to run_

_Forgive me for my wrongs, I have just begun_


	17. Chapter 17

“What are you doing?”

Harley was hunched over the outdoor table, pencil in hand, hard at work on…something. “Math.”

“Math?” Pam raised an eyebrow, discarding her robe. “To what end?” she stepped gingerly into the jacuzzi, settling down on one of the benches and enabling the jets.

Harley slammed her pencil down in excitement. “Alright, hear me out,” she snatched her paper off the table and jogged over to Pam, where she got down into a crouched position behind her. “Look, you see this?” she thrust the paper forward. “I think I’m only one match behind.”

Pamela took the paper from her, holding it a more respectable distance from her face so she could attempt to decipher Harley’s chicken scratch. “You really should have been a doctor with this handwriting.”

“Knock it off, Pammy,” Harley implored, tapping on her conclusion at the bottom of the page. “If Canary loses her fight to Steph, I’m in the title match. Right? I mean, check my math, but right?”

Pam exhaled, folding up the paper and handing it back to her. “Dinah won’t be losing to Steph, Harl.”

“Red, come on! Anything’s possible!” Harley’s delivery fell somewhere between annoyed and exhilarated…but then she faltered. “What? Do you think I’d lose?”

“The title fight I’m certain you won’t qualify for?” Pam wondered.

Harley brought herself up to her full height, crossing her arms in an exaggerated pout. “You’re no fun.”

Sighing, Pam said, “It’s a worthy goal, Harleen, one I’m sure you’ll achieve at some point in your career. But this is your rookie season. Just barely missing the title fight is a feat worth celebrating. Now, come here,” she pivoted, reaching over to untie Harley’s shoes. “I’m naked and not being paid the attention that deserves.”

Reluctantly, protest in every movement, Harley kicked off her shoes, dropping her clothes on the patio and climbing in next to her. “I just think you don’t get it cuz you didn’t play any sports and yer not competitive.”

Pamela laughed at that notion. “Everything’s a competition for me, Darling, and I’m winning.”

Harley’s lips twisted into another frown and she slumped backwards, her posture severely lacking as she idly splashed at the water. “Whatever,” she grumbled. “I think Steph’s got a shot.”

_She doesn’t._

“OK, Sweetpea,” Pam cooed, deciding it was better to concede that point and move on. “We could attend the fight, if you’d like to—,” she was cut when her phone vibrated on the table Harley had abandoned. She felt strange, suddenly. Cold.

Harley’s head lulled backwards, watching the phone as it continued to ring. “You wanna get that?”

Pam swallowed. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Fine, I will,” Harley huffed, hopping out of the jacuzzi, and wiping her hands before she slid her finger across the screen, answering the call. “Pam Isley’s phone, she’s too busy winning the game of life to answer herself.” She teasingly wrinkled her nose in the redhead’s direction before her posture stiffened and she pulled the phone away from her face to check the caller ID. “No, she’s right here,” Harley said, tone sobering as she crossed the patio to hand Pam the phone.

She gingerly cleared her throat before taking it. “What is it, Mother?” Pam asked without having to look.

 _“Your father passed,”_ Lillian’s voice sounded wrung out. Tired. _“I suggest you make travel arrangements; his funeral is planned for Sunday and we’ll be reading the will on Monday.”_

“I’ll…check my schedule,” were the only words Pam could find.

 _“No, you won’t,”_ her mother said, cold and commanding. _“You’ll book a flight and be here in time for the funeral.”_ With that, she hung up, leaving Pam alone with her phone pressed to her face.

Harley quietly stepped back into the water, the subtle splash reminding Pam of her presence. “Sorry, I didn’t check who was callin’, that’s my bad.”

Pam silently shook her head, standing without a word and heading back towards the house, wrapping her robe around her as she went.

“Hey, you OK?” Harley called after her, though Pam wasn’t really listening.

She pulled her laptop over to her on the kitchen island, opening the browser and navigating to her preferred travel site. And then Harley was beside her again, dressed in her now wet t-shirt and shorts, water dripping off her and onto the bamboo flooring, which would have irritated Pamela had she been paying attention.

“What’d she wanna talk about?” Harley asked.

“I have to fly to Leesburg for the weekend,” Pam told her, hoping that would enough information for Harley to leave her alone.

It wasn’t. “What’s Leesburg?”

“A town in Virginia.”

“Virginia? Why are you flyin’ there?”

Pam stopped, her fingers resting on her keyboard. “My father is dead. He just—he just died. The funeral is this weekend. In Leesburg. That’s where I grew up.”

Harley didn’t appear to know how to react right away. Her first move was to place her hand on Pam’s back, not patting, not rubbing, just holding her there. Then she moved closer, wrapping her other arm around Pam’s waist, looking at her while Pam searched for something else in the room to focus on. “How’d he die?” Harley asked.

“I’m sure in his sleep…or some other needlessly peaceful method,” Pam was dismissive, creating some space between she and Harley so she could select her seat.

“Red, I’m—I’m so sorry,” Harley offered her condolences.

“I already told you I don’t care,” Pam snapped. “I’m not mourning, it was a matter of when and it happened today. That’s all.”

Harley nodded. “Yeah, no worries, Red, I get it. I prolly wouldn’t care if my Pop died either.”

“Great,” Pam muttered, digging her credit card out of her purse. “My flight departs tomorrow at 2pm, will you drive me to the airport?”

“Oh, I—well I was thinkin’…maybe I could come with?” Harley proposed, blue eyes wide and hopeful. “So I can be there for ya, you know? In case you decide to care.”

“I don’t have enough miles for that,” was Pam’s response.

“I can pay, Pammy,” Harley reminded her. “I’ve got plenty’a money cuz you never make me spend any. Let me come with you.”

The redhead slammed her laptop shut, leaving the kitchen in the direction of her bedroom. She needed to pack. “No.”

“Wha—,” Harley followed, obviously upset, which Pam hadn’t the headspace for. “I wanna be there for you!”

Pamela pulled one of her suitcases from its place in the closet, tossing it on the bedroom floor. “Well, I don’t want you there.”

“Why not?!”

“Because I don’t need another reason to be ridiculed!” Pam exploded. It was out there before she could stop it.

Harley’s shoulders deflated, her face sinking. “What’s that s’posed ta mean?”

Pamela took a deep breath, gathering herself as best she could. “I’m not ready to—I’m not going to introduce you to my mother. I tried with Barbara Ann, and—,”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Harley’s laugh was sad. “I’m not good enough, huh? I’m not classy like Barbara, so I don’t get an invite.”

“Harleen, please don’t make my father’s death about you.”

“The fuck do you care?!” Harley demanded, closing the space between them, her voice loud and angry. “I thought none’a this mattered to ya. Now suddenly me being pissed is interrupting your mourning?”

Pam retreated into the closet without a response, slipping the first black dress she saw into a garment bag.

“What is it about me that’s so embarrasin’?” Harley demanded, joining Pam in the closet. “I can change my tattoos for ya, I don’t care. I can wear my hair different. I can learn to talk better.”

“Please, don’t make me have this conversation right now,” Pam begged, folding a pair of pants to add to her suitcase. “Whatever I say is going to hurt your feelings.”

“Hit me,” the blonde implored. “C’mon, do your worst.”

Pam threw the clothes she’d been holding onto the floor. “Fuck! Harley! It’s not about you! Nothing about me will ever be good enough for my mother, don’t you get it? Doesn’t matter if it’s you or Barbara Ann, I am a godless lesbian who is wasting her life besmirching the family name.”

That seemed to successfully halt Harley’s rage because her eyes fell to her feet, the extra air escaping her chest. “I don’t know what besmirch means,” she quietly admitted.

“Tarnish, sully, taint,” Pam threw out a few synonyms. “She’s an awful, judgmental, nightmare of a woman, and I am a disappointment.”

Harley opened her mouth, her brows knitting together, though no sound came out. Seemed Harley couldn’t find the words. ‘Perplexed’ was a good description of her expression. “How could you be a disappointment?” she finally asked.

Pam took a deep breath. “There are things about myself that I cannot change,” she said, picking up the clothes one by one and exiting the closet to place them in her suitcase. “And those things…my mother, will never accept them about me.”

Harley followed her, sitting gingerly down on the bed like she didn’t want Pam to remember how loud she’d been earlier. “I’m so proud of you, Pamela.”

Hearing her full name in Harley’s voice was strange.

“You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met,” Harley continued. “And if that really is what your mom’s like, then you’re the bravest one too. You’re the only person besides Jared that I’ve ever loved, and I don’t know where I’d be without’cha. If she can’t see how awesome that makes you then fuck her.”

Pam blinked. It seemed Harley wasn’t fully aware of what she’d just said. But Pam was. She was very aware of the implications of that sentence. “You love me?”

“Well, yeah,” Harley said like it was obvious. “But anyway, if you’re never gonna be good enough, why do you keep tryin’?”

“I’m—I’m not, I don’t,” Pam defended herself. “I moved three states away so I’d never have to justify another life choice to her.”

Harley spread her arms wide. “Then I’m a life choice. You don’t have ta justify me.”

And so Harley bought herself a first-class ticket.

/

“I’ve never been on a plane before,” Harley was trying (and failing) to tamp down her excitement. “Never been outta New Jersey before, either,” she grinned, gripping an issue of SkyMall to her chest like it was The Bible. “Have you ever looked in here, by the way? I wanna buy all of it.”

“Please don’t do that,” Pam was distracted, leaning into the aisle to look for the Flight Attendant. “Hi! Miss? I need some alcohol. It’s a matter of personal emergency.”

“I googled Leesburg, by the way,” Harley was saying, her gum popping in her mouth as she did. “How come there are so many plantations?”

 _Give me the strength to survive this,_ Pam silently prayed as she began to formulate a brief history lesson on pre-civil war America.

Harley was asking another question before Pam could answer the first one. “If you’re from the south how come you don’t have an accent like that Justin Timberlake girl on Ozark?”

The flight attendant had finally arrived to take Pam’s drink order. “Whiskey.”

“And for you, ma’am?” the woman prompted Harley.

“Something sweet enough to mask the taste of the alcohol,” Pam ordered for her, and Harley smiled, settling back into her seat. “Did you bring something to entertain you for the hour and a half we’ll be in the air?”

Harley held up her headphones as proof. “Yep! I found an audiobook of Bruce Wayne’s autobiography.”

Pam was incredulous. “Why would you want to listen to Bruce’s autobiography? He’s such a bummer.”

“He was the greatest,” Harley explained. “And I wanna win just as many titles as he did, so…gotta start studying.”

With a sigh, Pam took her drink from the flight attendant, passing Harley hers before sinking back into her chair and closing her eyes.

She and her father had never managed to cultivate a relationship. He’d spent much of her childhood working, and when he was at home, he was usually in his study, a place Pamela never felt welcome. Robert Isley came from old money and made his personal fortune slaughtering pigs. He’d actually hired Pamela to consult on more sustainable meat production practices for his slaughterhouses once, back when that was her forte. It had been a genuinely traumatic experience for Pamela, and she refused to eat pork to this day. She was almost certain he’d failed to incorporate a single one of her recommendations into his production protocols, and rather than pay her consulting fees, he’d gifted her that Georgia O’Keeffe painting that hung above her dining room table.

He’d been a quiet man, aloof and largely uncaring, more a breathing concept of a father than a physical presence. And now, he was dead.

Harley had tears in her eyes by the time they touched down. “—And so he adopted Dick because he lost his parents too, right in front of him, and—,”

“Yes, Harley, I know,” Pam stood to grab their carry-ons from the overhead bin. “He’s my direct supervisor, I’ve heard the story a million times. It’s all very inspiring.”

“Then Talia goes and just dumps Damian on his doorstep?”

“No one needs to know I said this, but that’s perhaps a bit unfair to Talia,” Pam said, handing Harley her bag and checking their seats to make sure nothing had been forgotten.

“No way!” a male voice in the row behind them exclaimed. “Are you The Harlequin?”

Harley turned to greet him, slightly apprehensive at first. “Yeah…that’s me…I mean, that’s what they call me in the ring, anyway.”

Pam took a step into the aisle so she could see him too. He appeared altogether normal, which was a relief.

“My daughter and I are huge fans!” he said, grinning. “Check it out, I got this one after your fight with The Demon’s Daughter.” He pulled his shirt sleeve back, revealing he’d tattooed the word _Rotten_ onto his medial deltoid.

Harley couldn’t believe it. “Holy shit! That’s awesome, Red, check it out!”

“I’m checking it out,” Pam assured her, checking her phone. “Our cab is already waiting for us.”

“Well, hey, I don’t wanna keep you, but do you think you’d sign something for me?” he asked.

Harley was happy to oblige. “Of course! You got a pen?”

The man checked his pockets but came up empty, so Pam produced one from her purse, trying to speed this interaction along. He asked that Harley sign his arm, telling her he’d get his guy to go over it with ink later. A request and statement Pam found a bit creepy, but whatever, he was here for Harley, not Pamela’s opinions.

“I’m really hoping Canary loses on Sunday,” he said as Harley wrote her name on his arm. “I’d kill to see you get another shot at Batwoman in the final.”

“No need to kill anyone,” Pam felt the need to make that clear. “There’s always the chance of an upset.”

“Yeah,” the man agreed with an enthusiastic nod of his head, smiling at Harley the whole time. “You’re so awesome.”

Pam grabbed Harley by the arm. “She certainly is, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’ve never run into a fan like that before,” Harley said once they’d left the plane, still basking in the moment. “He had a _Rotten_ tattoo! I don’t even have a _Rotten_ tattoo yet!”

“I think we should probably stick to sharpie for that one,” Pam suggested, guiding them through the airport and out to the curb where their cab was waiting, the driver holding a sign that said _Isley_.

He popped the trunk once Pamela waved at him, and Harley helped to load their bags into the car.

Pam knew from experience the drive from Dulles International Airport to her childhood home would take about 30 minutes, so she’d have time to mentally prepare herself before having to come face to face with her mother, something she hadn’t subjected herself to in nearly two years now. That altercation had been on Pamela’s home turf. This would be an entirely different ballgame.

“Do you think I’ll ever be rich enough to fly in a private jet?” Harley asked, interrupting Pamela’s train of thought but not pulling her attention away from the passing scenery.

“Sure, why not,” Pam offered.

“Were you so rich that you grew up with horses and shit?”

“Yes, though I didn’t much care for them. They were far more important to my mother.”

“And, like, did you have a butler?”

“Yes,” Pam exhaled, long and loud, hoping Harley would get the hint, but of course that was a pipe dream.

“What was your dad like?”

Pamela shook her head. “I don’t really know.”

Harley’s face was pressed against the window when they finally pulled into the Isley’s long driveway, their path bracketed by a row of Tulip Poplars on both sides. “Holy shit, Pammy. You never told me you were raised on a fuckin’ nature preserve.”

“It’s beautiful,” Pam admitted, studying her own hands folded in her lap rather than the estate. She knew the driveway would circle around the back of the house before taking them around to the front. She hadn’t been home since she’d moved to Gotham to work for Bruce and Selina nearly 4 years ago now, and yet she could conjure every detail of this dreadful place without prompting.

Harley whistled as the car stopped out front. “This some _Django Unchained_ shit.”

The driver popped the trunk again and Harley got out to unload the bags while Pam paid him. She added a tip as well because he hadn’t tried to talk to them, which was the exact type of cab service she preferred.

The trip up the front steps felt far too brief, and before Pam knew it she was standing on her porch, a few feet from the grand front door. Harley had carried both of their bags, meaning Pam would have to be the one to knock.

Pamela breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, shifting her weight subtly from her heels, to her toes, and back again. She shook out the tension in her shoulders and then cleared her throat, raising her hand to the doorbell.

“You got this,” Harley encouraged beside her.

“I’ve got this,” Pam quietly repeated, gathering all her strength to press the doorbell, that familiar chime echoing beyond the door.

She glanced over at Harley as they waited, the blonde offering an awkward double thumbs up as a show of support.

Pam chuckled, and that’s when the door swung open, revealing a woman dressed in what Pam recognized as the live-in housekeeper uniform. Yes, her parents still employed a live-in housekeeper.

“Hello,” Pamela greeted, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “I’m here to see Lillian.”


	18. Chapter 18

“Are you Pamela?” the woman asked.

“I am,” Pam told her, wondering how many housekeepers her mother had been through since she’d last visited.

“She’s been expecting you,” the woman smiled, beckoning them inside and making Lillian sound like Darth Vader in the process. “Come this way, I last saw her in the kitchen.”

Pamela followed silently, but Harley whispered, “I’m scared,” as they crossed the threshold. Pam ignored her, prioritizing her own anxiety about this reunion.

As they walked, Harley took in her surroundings, her mouth falling open as they passed through the parlor and dining room on their way to the kitchen. “Do you think this house is bigger than Wayne manor?” she wondered.

“I never felt the need to compare square footage, but I doubt it,” Pam answered, feeling dwarfed in the cavernous space, hushing her voice of her own accord, something that had been drilled into her as a child. _Children should be seen and not heard_ , Pamela silently mocked. 

Lillian Isley was standing with her back to them when they entered the kitchen, dressed all in black, her hair the obvious result of a professional blowout, which she’d found time to schedule despite her grief.

“Ma’am,” the housekeeper announced their presence. “I have Pamela here for you.”

Lillian’s hands stilled in their work rearranging one of the many flower bouquets that lined the counters. “They won’t stop sending these,” she said, without turning around. “If they insist upon offering condolences, why can’t they give me something with roots? In a week from now I’ll have nothing but a house full of dead flowers.”

“I have a few ways to make them last a bit longer,” Pam offered. “Might buy you another week.”

“Sure, what’s the harm,” Lillian said, running an elegant hand through her own red hair before turning to acknowledge her daughter. “Glad to see you’ve been able to keep yourself fed despite your busy schedule. I feel as though I’ve lost half my bodyweight during this whole ordeal.”

She did look thinner than usual, Pam realized, which would have been concerning if she hadn’t just called Pamela fat. “Having an ass is all the rage now, Mother. I suggest you give it a shot, does wonders for ones self-esteem.”

“Really, Pamela, must you be so vulgar? On this day, of all days,” Lillian wasn’t angry, just disappointed.

“Right,” Pam nodded. “The sacred day after daddy died but before the funeral.”

Lillian dismissed that argument with a wave of her hand. “You’ll stay in your old bedroom, have your bag girl drop your things in there and send her on her way. We’ll be sitting down for dinner in 20 minutes.”

“Actually, Mother, Harleen is my guest, not my bag girl,” Pam corrected. “I brought her for moral support during this trying time.”

Lillian gave Harley an icy look over, taking her time to examine her from head to foot, stocking her arsenal. “Is this the Brit or the child who keeps answering your phone?”

“You met Barbara, Mother, obviously this isn’t the same person,” Pam tried not to snap.

“Ah,” Lillian nodded, continuing to study Harley. “She looks much older than I imagined. Perhaps even legally appropriate,” she focused in on something specific before turning to Pam. “Why is her ear deformed?”

“What?”

“Her ear,” Lillian repeated. “The one on the right. Just there,” she pointed. “Why is it shaped like that?”

“Oh, we call it _cauliflower_ ear,” Harley spoke up, finally, like she was happy for the opportunity to educate. “Got it in one of my fights, can’t remember which, my old coach didn’t get it drained. But, anyway, I can still hear out of it. In case you, y’know…care…” she trailed off when Lillian’s eyes narrowed in her direction. “You remind me of one of my foster moms, but you’re much prettier.”

Lillian just blinked at her, silently for a moment. “Thank you for that…I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Harleen,” the blonde grinned. “But you can call me Harley, everyone does.”

“Like the motorcycle?”

“Yep, exactly!”

“How…charming,” Lillian decided, done with her by this point. “Did she bring formalwear, or will she be sporting sweat…shorts(?) at the funeral?”

Pam rolled her eyes. “I’m sure she brought something appropriate,” though as soon as the words left her mouth, she began to wonder whether they were true. “We’ll get settled and be down for dinner.” She put her hand on Harley’s back to guide her out of the kitchen.

“She can sleep in the guest room next to yours,” Lillian said, stopping them in the doorway.

And there it was, the crossroads. As treacherous as ever. This time, she wanted to be clear. “That won’t be necessary,” Pamela made her statement, without turning back around. “We’ll be sleeping in the same bed, just like we do in our home.” Riding that swell of courage, she continued on her way before her mother could respond, dragging Harley with her out of the kitchen and towards the staircase to the second story.

The blonde waited until she was sure they were out of earshot to say, “is my ear really that obvious?”

“No, no,” Pam assured her, though she lowered her voice to add, “only from some angles.”

Her childhood bedroom was the first door on the right after they reached the landing, and Pamela opened it so Harley could drag both of their bags inside.

“Hold on,” Harley stopped near the foot of the bed, collapsing the suitcase handles and spinning in a slow circle to survey her surroundings. “I thought she said we were staying in your old bedroom.”

“We are,” Pam set her purse down on the dresser.

Frowning, Harley said, “So you were always 40 years old?”

Pamela was only partway paying attention, her thoughts preoccupied as she checked her waistline in the mirror. “Don’t be silly…”

“Did you seriously frame an Emily Dickinson poem?”

“Mmm…” was Pam’s only verbal response as she cocked her head at her reflection, stripping her jacket off and running a hand over her hips. “I haven’t gained weight,” she said, though there was a slight question in her statement.

Harley was off on her own trip. “I was just hopin’ for some band posters or something…” she opened the bedside table drawer. “How bout a vibrator? Oh no, hold up,” she’d evidently found something of interest. “Did teenage Pam Isley sleep with a copy of _both_ Angelina Jolie Tomb Raider movies by her bed?”

That snapped Pam out of whatever crisis she was being lulled into. “I had needs, OK? What kind of things did teenaged Harley keep in her bedroom? Since you’re so keen on mocking me.”

Harley shrugged, putting the movies back where she’d found them and closing the drawer. “I never really had a bedroom to decorate, but I’d’a gone with Thirty Seconds to Mars and some Evanescence. How’d you get laid in here, for real?”

Rolling her eyes, Pam plucked her hand sanitizer from her purse, trying to rid herself of whatever she’d carried off the plane. “I had other things on my mind back then.”

“Like Angelina Jolie in really tiny shorts?”

“You’re having way too much fun with this,” Pam sighed, tossing Harley the hand sanitizer. “You did bring something nice for the funeral, right?”

Dinner was predictably uncomfortable. For one, Lillian served a spiral cut ham, which had always been the default meal in their household and meant Pamela would only be eating a side salad and a garlic butter potato. It was one of those meals that looked impressive, although it really only required that the oven be pre-heated and the potatoes be seasoned, all of which Pam was sure the housekeeper had done.

Lillian watched critically as Harley loaded her plate up with meat. “Goodness gracious, where are you planning to put all that?”

“I was thinkin’ I’d eat it,” Harley grabbed a second roll for good measure. “I skipped lunch because I was too excited about the plane.”

“Harleen had never been on a plane before,” Pam lent some context, absently picking at her salad. “Who will run the company, now that daddy is gone?”

Lillian seemed unfazed by the abrupt change in subject. “He rarely discussed business matters with me, but I imagine we’ll find out on Monday during the will reading.”

“Well, I have zero interest in running a slaughterhouse,” Pamela made that clear.

“I’m shocked, truly,” Lillian mocked, pouring herself a glass of wine. “We always imagined our liberal, husbandless, Ivy League educated daughter would someday return home to ensure our meatpacking plants continued to be prosperous.”

Pam rolled her eyes, taking the wine bottle from her mother to add some to her own now half-empty glass. “Glad we’re on the same page, then.”

“So,” Harley decided another subject change was in order. “How long were you and Pam’s dad married, Lillian?”

“You can call me Mrs. Isley.”

“Oh, gotcha, no problem, Mrs. Isley,” Harley quickly applied that correction. “How’d you two meet?”

Lillian set her fork down to answer. “We were married for 36 years and met at a company function. My father worked as Mr. Isley’s plant manager at his first location before the expansion and introduced us.”

“Yes, I’m sure his intention was to set his 20-year-old daughter up with his boss,” Pam said over the lip of her wine glass.

“My father gave us his blessing without hesitation,” Lillian snapped. “Something you’ll never get.”

“Yes, well, daddy is dead, so I suppose you’re right,” Pam pointed out.

They sat in silence while Lillian watched her daughter take a bite of salad. When she spoke again, her tone was far more measured. “I loved your father, Pamela Lillian. And he loved you, in his own way.”

“Ignoring me for my entire childhood and then failing to respect my professional expertise and qualifications is a strange way to love someone,” Pam said, cutting into her potato.

Lillian shook her head, her fingers struggling not to clench into a fist. “I would suggest you try to do better with your own child, but I think we both know it’s unlikely you’ll have the chance.”

“Mmm…” Pam pulled her lips into a thin, condescending smile. “It would seem the lack of maternal instinct is hereditary.”

“Mrs. Isley, this ham is like, crazy good,” Harley interjected, attempting to cut the tension…or maybe just legitimately moved to comment on the ham. “Did you put butter on this? I miss butter. Pam doesn’t let me add butter to things anymore, but man does it really take things to the next level.”

“Thank you, Harleen,” Lillian acknowledged her, though her eyes didn’t leave Pamela. “I wish my daughter was equally grateful.”

 _There’s no way I can make it another two days here._ “I haven’t had a pork product since I was 26 years old, you know that.”

“Yankee nonsense,” Lillian mumbled.

/

Pamela found herself alone in her queen-sized bed when she awoke the next morning. The sun was spilling through the lace curtains in familiar patterns, the birds outside singing the same tune in the tree branches outside her window.

With a stretch and a quiet yawn, Pam rose, deducing Harley had gone on a run based on how her suitcase lay open, its contents strewn about and tennis shoes missing.

She’d slept in a bit, it was already 9:43 according to the manual alarm clock that sat on her bedside table. The funeral was supposed to start at 3pm and would be held in the private, family cemetery that sat on a hill, overlooking the pond near the eastern border of their property.

Pam thought it would be wise to take a shower and brainstorm a few responses to her mother’s typical lines of attack before she went downstairs to face the music. She took her time getting ready, doing her hair and makeup but waiting to change into the black dress she’d brought. Harley still hadn’t returned when she emerged from the bathroom, though from the window in the hallway Pam did spy her in what could only be described as a deep, pelvic lunge on the front lawn.

_Mother will love that._

On her way down to the kitchen, Pamela walked past her father’s study. The door was open, just a crack, and for a split second she was transported back to school mornings during her childhood. The housekeeper would bring daddy his breakfast and he’d eat it at his desk, visible only for that brief moment before the housekeeper would leave and shut the door behind her.

Pamela stopped, feet glued to the spot just outside the door, to gaze at the empty chair behind that handsome mahogany desk. With an outstretched hand, she pushed the door open a few inches further, just enough to allow her to slip inside. Pamela felt like she was getting away with something being in here. Like she’d entered his inner sanctum without his permission, then again, his permission hardly mattered anymore.

On her father’s desk sat two fountain pens, capped upright in a stand made from polished wood, an ornate letter opener with his initials carved into the handle, and a leather bound padfolio like the one Barbara carried. No computer, though, so Pamela had no idea how he managed to get any work done. The far wall was one large bookshelf, stacked from floor to ceiling with books likely written by old men with shitty opinions.

She was crossing the room to examine his personal library more closely when a picture frame on the shelf behind his desk caught her eye. Brow furrowing, she approached it slowly, realizing it held a picture of her from the debutante ball she’d attended at 16. She remembered the exact age because her mother had been so disappointed that Pamela’s braces hadn’t been ready to come off for her big debut as an official member of society.

With a smile and a shake of her head, Pam pulled her phone out of her pocket, taking a picture and texting it over to Selina with the caption “This look took sacrifice”. Selina didn’t respond immediately, so Pam slipped the phone back into her pocket and continued her exploration.

She glanced over her shoulder before quietly opening the desk drawer on the left-hand side. It mostly contained business statements and invoices, but near the back she found a thick envelope. Curious, she picked it up, examining it carefully first before extracting the stack of paper found inside. She immediately registered her name on the cover page and realized she was looking at a copy of the report she’d submitted to his company detailing recommendations for the streamlined application of sustainable and ethical changes to his processing procedures.

Frowning, Pamela flipped through the pages of the report she’d written 9 years ago now. _Why would he keep it if he hadn’t planned to implement any of it?_

“Ma’am.”

Pam jumped, clutching the report to her chest as she spun around in surprise at the voice.

“I’m sorry,” the housekeeper said. “Didn’t mean to startle you, but Mrs. Isley is still upstairs, and the caterers just arrived. They want to know where to set up.”

“Of course,” Pam nodded, her heartrate dropping back down to normal as she filed the papers back into the envelope and closed the drawer. “I’ll be right out.”

“Also, your friend was looking for you,” the woman added. “She’s having trouble with her suspenders.”

Exhaling, Pam joked, “You probably should have led with that emergency,” inspiring a smile in the other woman.

“Yes, Ma’am.”


	19. Chapter 19

“Yes, yes, yes! Harley that’s—no, don’t touch my hair—fuck, ah!”

Harley grinned when Pam’s hands finally relinquished the vice grip on her shoulders. She extracted her fingers, licking them clean before Pam surged forward for a passionate kiss.

“What time is it?” Pam breathed against her lips.

“I don’t know,” Harley admitted. “But I’ve always wanted to fuck a pretty girl in a closet before her dad’s funeral.”

Pam laughed, pushing her away to slide off the shelf she’d been perched on. “It’s a pantry, Darlin’. Hand me my phone.”

Harley did as she was told, Pam’s phone telling her it was 2:54pm. “We should get going, fix your shirt,” she said, slightly distracted as she checked for any missed messages. There was only one, from Kate Kane, of all people. _This can’t be good_ , Pam thought before she even opened it. **Sorry I didn’t give you more of a heads up. Desperate times. I’m sorry.**

“What?” Harley asked in response to Pam’s expression. “What is it?”

“Something that was meant for someone else, I assume,” Pamela said, locking her phone without replying and helping to button Harley’s shirt to an appropriate level. Once she was satisfied with the blonde’s appearance, they exited the pantry…quickly realizing the kitchen wasn’t as empty as they’d assumed.

“Ma’am,” the housekeeper greeted with a nod as they emerged together.

 _Fuck._ “That was—I’m sorry you—,”

“None of my business,” she assured, stopping Pam mid rambling apology. “Though, you might benefit from a bit less leg.”

Pam glanced down at her dress, which remained bunched around her upper thigh. In two quick movements all was well, their debauchery far less obvious. “Thank you.”

Harley went to take her hand for the walk from the house to the family cemetery, but Pam shook her head, “Not now,” she instructed.

Pouting, Harley tucked her hand into her pocket instead.

The funeral service was solemn, silent, and uneventful. The Eulogy was delivered by an old friend of her fathers, which Pam would have considered sweet had said friend been less creepy towards her during her teenage years.

Both Pamela and her mother threw a handful of dirt onto the casket after it had been lowered into the hole in the ground, neither with tears in their eyes, though Lillian’s affect had lost some of its sharpness, replaced with a temporary despondency that lasted until the ceremony was finished and the grave had been filled with dirt.

The caterers had set up in the courtyard behind the house, so all the guests headed that way afterwards. As they walked, Pamela craned her neck to get a closer look at someone she thought looked awfully familiar.

“A little overboard on the blush, don’t you think?” Lillian was now beside her. “This isn’t Texas.”

“No need to resort to ugly stereotypes, Mother,” Pamela said, losing sight of the man she’d been tracking. “Beautiful ceremony, though. I’m sure daddy would have felt just as inconvenienced at having to attend as he did every other social function.”

“Without a doubt,” Lillian agreed, something approaching a smile gracing her lips.

“I’ve never seen a dead person so dressed up,” was the compliment Harley chose to offer from Pam’s other side. “He didn’t even really look dead.”

Pamela and Lillian turned to Harley in unison, each offering their best _what’s wrong with you_ expression.

“Anyway…” Lillian continued, choosing not to verbally acknowledge Harley. “Have you had the chance to do any mingling?”

“Not really, I was a bit preoccupied with the burying of my father,” Pam told her, stopping at the ‘small bites’ table to grab a mini quiche. “Besides, I maintain zero interest in conversing with daddy’s stuffy work colleagues and your overbearing ‘friends’ who claim they’re proud that their daughter is head of the PTA.”

“Well, lucky for you, I invited some of your old friends as well,” Lillian was waving at someone Pam couldn’t see from her vantage point…until the crowd parted and he emerged with that kind, though somehow reserved smile that Pamela recognized.

“Alec,” Lillian greeted. “I’m so glad you could make it. I’m sure the trip up from Louisiana was a tiresome one.”

His black tie was loose around his neck, resulting in an effortless, _Sweet Home Alabama_ aesthetic that Pam knew made certain girls swoon. He approached them with a barely noticeable limp, his skin tan against his fair hair, features aged by sun exposure. “I’m grateful for the invite, Ma’am. Any excuse to celebrate a great life and catch up with old friends.” His attention shifted from Lillian to Pam. “Speakin’ of which, if it isn’t the one who got away. Pam Isley, as I live and breathe.”

Pam knew he was joking, but it was obvious Lillian didn’t, so this was going to backfire wonderfully. “Alec Holland,” she smiled, wrapping him up in a friendly hug. “I read your last article in Nature Ecology and Evolution. A truly fascinating hypothesis.”

He chuckled, subtly tussling his hair. “Oh, that old thing?”

“Alec is a prominent researcher at the forefront of his scientific field,” Lillian announced like this would be impressive news to Pamela. “With a PhD.”

“I have a PhD, Mother,” Pam pointed out.

“Yes, well, I just mean he’d make a good provider…for whomever is lucky enough to one day be his wife,” Lillian smiled at him, though that was all clearly for Pamela’s benefit.

Pam laughed. “I’m sure the dedicated study of wetland ecology in Louisiana swamps is a lucrative pursuit.”

“You should see my shack,” Alec joked. “I have a motorized skiff with my own private tie-post.”

Lillian was losing, and that was obvious to everyone, which brought Pamela great joy. And then, as if she truly was one of God’s children, a female voice broke into the conversation.

“Honey, have you tried this candied bacon? It’s to die for.”

Alec took a step back, putting his arm around the bacon enthusiast’s waist to pull her into the circle. “Pam, you remember my wife, Linda. And Linda, this is Pam’s mother, Lillian.”

Oh, Pam remembered, alright. “Linda,” she greeted, before Lillian had the chance to. “From Brown?”

“From Brown!” the pretty blonde confirmed, smiling from ear to ear. “I was so sorry to hear about your father, but what a great little reunion this is.”

Lillian really should have just walked away by this point, but she evidently insisted on seeing her defeat through to the end. “I didn’t know you were married, Alec.”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “For a few years now. We dated on and off after Brown, then our post-graduate studies took us to different parts of the country, but miraculously we reconnected at a conference a little while back.”

Pam was chewing on another mini quiche with extreme satisfaction. “What a beautiful love story. And how interesting to see you two together. I mean, I feel so blessed to be part of both of your journeys to self-discovery. Alec was my experiment, I was clearly Linda’s…how wonderful that we all came together—I mean, that _it_ all came together.” 

Lillian was walking away now, that had been the last straw. Pam watched her go before taking Harley’s arm and pulling her into the circle—she’d been happily munching on appetizers on the outside up until this point. “This is my girlfriend, Harley. Harl, this is Alec and his wife, Linda. Some friends from college.”

“Hey,” Harley smiled, wiping her hand on her pantleg before shaking both of their hands. “Nice ta meet you.”

“Wait a minute…” Alec narrowed his eyes, like he was trying to place her. “I know you. You’re Harley Quinzel. You’re that boxer.”

Harley’s eyes lit up at being recognized twice in two days. “I am!”

“We saw something about you on ESPN. Or SportsCenter, maybe,” Alec told her. “I thought I recognized that painting from somewhere. Is that incredible house where you’re living now, Pam?”

Pam smiled, trying to ride that careful balance between an outright brag and faux self-deprecation. “Turns out that, unlike noble pursuits of science, drug testing boxers can be rather lucrative.”

Alec laughed, telling Linda, “I guess you hitched your skiff to the wrong tie-post.”

“We all make mistakes,” Pam’s tone was playful. “Some with harsher consequences than others. But anyway, it was so good to see you two. Glad you’re well.”

“You too,” Linda agreed, taking Alec’s hand. “And again, we’re sorry about your father.”

Pamela thanked them with a smile, releasing them to go get a plate of actual food. She sighed wistfully, looking for her mother among the guests to really solidify her victory, but then Harley was saying, “For real, this bacon is nuts!...get it, Pammy? Cuz it’s got these nuts stuck to it?” and the moment was lost.

“I fucked both of those people in college, in case that wasn’t clear,” Pam said, suddenly missing Selina for the kudos she would have received.

Harley’s mouth was full. “No, yeah, I got that. I’d do it with them too. I mean, I’d probably enjoy doing it with him more than you did, but—,”

“I’m sure,” Pam kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be right back. Stay out of trouble in the meantime.”

“You got it, Red,” Harley promised, saluting her.

With a sigh and a shake of her head, Pamela started for the back door of the house, remembering she’d left her cellphone on the kitchen counter and realizing she should probably keep it close to her in the event that someone from work tried to contact her before the Lance vs. Brown fight, which was set to start in about two hours.

She spied it right where she’d left it, and it vibrated in her hand immediately after picking it up, alerting her to missed notifications. 15, to be exact. A combination of texts, emails and missed calls from Selina, Barbara, Bruce and a few other unknown numbers.

**Selina: This is a clusterfuck, Pam, did you know about this in advance?**

**Barbara: Hey boss, I’m getting a lot of requests for comment. Do you have something pre-written or do you want me to think something up?**

**Bruce: Pamela, we need to workshop our response here. Call me back.**

Pamela had no idea what was going on, but her brain was already switching to damage control mode. She called Bruce, only having to wait two rings before he picked up.

“What’s going on?” was her first question, failing to offer any other form of greeting.

Bruce didn’t seem to mind her brusqueness. _“Firstly, have you seen the interview?”_

“What interview?”

 _“Is that Pam?”_ she heard Selina’s voice in the background. _“Tell her I’m about this close to scheduling her a female circumcision.”_

“Put me on speaker,” Pamela demanded. “What the fuck is going on? Was there an inconsistency with someone’s test?”

 _“No, you walking HR nightmare!”_ Selina was yelling. _“Your married fuck-buddy decided to tell Luke Fox about your fucking affair, and then that cock-suck Jared went on ESPN roundtable, outed you and Harley, and then had the audacity to call it a ‘systemic problem’ at WBA.”_

 _“It’s a PR disaster,”_ Bruce summed things up.

It was then that Pam remembered the odd text she’d received from Kate earlier. _Oh, that fucking bitch._ Pam had to think quick, but the rage clouding her thought process was making things a bit difficult. “I’ll handle it. I’ll call Kate, just—,”

 _“No!”_ Selina repeated, closer to the receiver now. _“You will not call Kate under any circumstances. We’re going to have to launch some bullshit investigation into your conduct, comb over every athlete’s test history, and I’ll bet you anything the Olympic Committee will be up our ass the entire time because they use the same motherfucking protocols and—,”_

“Hey!” Pamela shouted, her voice echoing in her mother’s empty kitchen. “Get a hold of yourself, Selina, Jesus Christ. Kate, Harley and I are all consenting adults. I did nothing illegal and my protocols and reports are air tight.”

 _“Well, we’ll have to see if the Olympic Committee agrees…”_ Bruce’s tone was far calmer than Selina’s, which was somehow more infuriating.

“I worked for them, you idiots. You poached me from the USADA. I wrote the protocols for this entire industry,” Pamela was gripping the edge of the counter, trying not to clench her jaw too painfully. “I will conference with Barbara, we’ll come up with a statement, and I’ll give Fox the exclusive after you’ve approved it. Does that work for everybody?”

 _“Fine,”_ Selina snapped. _“Fuck! I can’t believe she’s trying to strong-arm me like this.”_

Pamela was too busy planning her response to unpack Selina’s statement.

 _“We’re sorry to bother you about this during your father’s funeral,”_ Bruce’s words filled the dead space in the conversation. _“I wish this could have waited until tomorrow, but we obviously need to get ahead of it.”_

Pam was wearily massaging her temples. “I understand. I’ll deal with it.”

Barbara was not the first call she made after she hung up, however.

_“Hey, listen—,”_

“No, you don’t get to ‘hey listen’ me,” Pamela snarled into the receiver. “I want a simple explanation. Why would you purposefully set this monumental shit-storm upon us?”

 _“I really shouldn’t be talking to you right now, Pam,”_ Kate’s voiced was hushed. _“It’s like I said in the text: desperate times.”_

“Fuck you, Kate,” Pam really needed to get that out of the way before she could move forward. _“_ Now, what are you talking about?”

Kate sighed on the other end of the line. _“I am sorry, Pamela. I am. But Selina was going to bump me from the title fight. I needed a bombshell so I could stay in front of the cameras.”_

Pam ran down a quick mental checklist of all the ways she could poison Kate without authorities ruling her death a homicide. “Why did you have to name names? Why did you have to say it was me with me?”

 _“That’s on Selina,”_ Kate told her. _“I’m sorry Pam,”_ she repeated. _“But I have to go.”_ And then she was gone.

Pam took a deep breath in an attempt to slow everything down, though it was quickly becoming clear this was already out of control. “OK,” she said, out loud, although she was the only one within earshot. “You’re fine. I’m fine.”

Opening her text thread with Barbara, Pam fired off a quick **Draft something for me** , text. **I don’t want it to be an apology, that makes me sound like a predator. Say I’m away at my family home mourning my father’s death, that this feels like an extreme violation of privacy, and that I’ll make myself available for official comment on Monday.**

Barbara responded immediately. **Should I say Harley is there offering moral support?**

**I’m not sure, send both versions to Selina and see what she thinks. She’s technically PR.**

**Barbara: we’ll handle it. This isn’t the #MeToo moment they want it to be.**

**Right, keep me in the loop.** Pam’s fingers paused on her keyboard. **Thank you.**

The backdoor opened behind her, and Pamela knew it was Harley without having to turn around, as she was fairly certain Harley was the only woman here not wearing heels.

“Hey, I made you a plate of the healthiest lookin’ stuff I could find,” Harley slid the plate in front of Pam on the counter. “Figured you were probably pretty hungry since you didn’t really eat anything last night or this mornin’…” she trailed off once she got a closer look at Pam. “You OK?

Pam briefly studied the plate of food before fully acknowledging the other woman. “Do me a favor and don’t answer any calls or text messages today, OK?”

Harley raised a questioning eyebrow. “Uh…OK…how come? Is it, like, what your dad would have wanted?”

“No,” Pamela laughed, relieved for reasons she couldn’t explain. “I’m in trouble, Harl.”


	20. Chapter 20

“The optics are awful, doesn’t matter what my official statement is, they’ll remain awful.”

Barbara was trying to spin things on the other end of the line, _“It’s a perception problem, that’s all. Kate looks like an asshole right now, but one who is owning up to her mistakes. Everybody loves a repentant sinner.”_

Pamela was sitting on one of her mother’s extremely uncomfortable, antique love seats, her knees pulled to her chest, having changed out of her black funeral dress and into something more closely resembling pajamas. “Please, let’s not get biblical, here.”

_“I’m just saying, having Renee sitting next to her during that whole thing made you sound like a corrupting homewrecker.”_

“I assume that was the point.”

_“It was. And the fact that Harley is on the…younger, side of things, isn’t helping, especially since Jared called it ‘a pattern’.”_

“Great,” Pam held the bridge of her nose, pinched between her thump and index finger. “Well, why don’t we get all the women I didn’t sleep with to tell Luke my personal relationships didn’t create a hostile work environment.”

 _“I mean, that’s not the worst idea ever,”_ Barbara admitted. _“As long as Bruce and Selina are going to back you.”_

Exhaling, Pam said, “I won’t hold my breath.”

“Oh, shit!” Harley stood, eyes glued to the TV, shadow boxing the combos she was seeing on screen. “Steph got a sick little jab in there!”

“Are you and Luke watching the fight?” Pam asked Barbara, idly glancing up at the screen herself. “I wasn’t expecting Stephanie to last 6 rounds.”

 _“Yeah, we stayed home, though,”_ Barbara said. _“It’s a mess down there right now.”_

“I can imagine…but anyway, I think that’s enough strategizing for tonight,” Pam said, wondering if an 8 o’clock Sunday night phone call with her assistant was another example of less than professional behavior. “Please update me tomorrow, I’m hoping things will have settled.”

_“Me too. Have a good night, Ma’am.”_

Pamela hung up, sighing with some exaggeration as she locked her phone and set it to the side. Selina was right, this whole thing was a clusterfuck. There was truly no feeling Pamela despised in this world more than powerlessness, and at this point, although the ball was in her court, there wasn’t much she could do to rehabilitate her image.

“Red, are you watching this?” Harley was still on her feet. “Red, do you—Red!”

“Can you girls keep it down in there?!” Lillian shouted from the kitchen. “For the love of all things holy!”

Pam paid her mother little mind as she, like Harley, was now watching, rapt, by what was unfolding on screen. Dinah was unsteady on her feet, and just as Pam was beginning to process the implications of Dinah giving a less than stellar performance on this stage, she suddenly wasn’t on her feet at all. Stephanie was standing over her, having delivered the knock-out blow.

“Holy shit,” Harley said, just as shocked as Pamela was, just as shocked as the entire arena, based on the collective gasp heard through the TVs speakers.

Pam grabbed the remote off of her armrest, turning the volume up to hear the commentator’s analysis.

_“The Canary is on the ground! In a stunning defeat, Stephanie Brown has defeated Dinah Lance with a truly devastating knockout blow in the 6 th! Incredible! Truly incredible!” _

_“I can’t believe what I just saw.”_

Dinah’s husband was inside the ring now, helping her to her feet and guiding her over to where the referee was waiting with Stephanie’s glove already in hand. Stephanie was declared the winner, and Dinah hung her head. This was not the plan.

The camera view switched to a hand-held one inside the ring, and there was a microphone being shoved in Stephanie’s face. _“How’d you do it, Stephanie? How’d you pull it off?”_

The blonde grabbed the microphone, gipping it with both hands and leaning into the camera lens, giving the viewers at home an extreme close-up of her sweaty, blood-streaked face. _“Spoiler alert, biiiiitttttccccchhhhhhh!”_

Pamela quickly muted the TV before Lillian could yell at them again. The silence didn’t last long, though. Pam’s phone vibrated with an incoming call, the caller ID reading **Slade Wilson**.

She already knew what this conversation would be about. “Slade,” she answered.

“I need Harley on the first flight back from wherever you’re filming the _Get Out_ sequel.”

Pam rolled her eyes. “I take it Harley sent you pictures.”

“Yes, and I need her to know that’s not why she has my phone number.”

“Is that coach Slade?” Harley wondered, her ears perking up.

Pam nodded in silent confirmation. “So Dinah’s out and Harley’s in?”

“It’ll be a Quinzel v Kane title fight.”

“Oh,” Pam laughed, the sound devoid of any legitimate humor. “I see Selina’s already found a way to make money off my scandal.”

“I thought you’d have figured that out by now,” Slade said. “I need her in the gym by tomorrow afternoon, so if you put her on the first morning flight, I’ll pick her up from the airport.”

“She’ll be there.” Pam hung up after that, neither she nor Slade requiring a goodbye.

Harley was watching her expectantly. “So…what did he say?!”

Pamela pursed her lips, briefly making space for Harley’s innocent excitement. “He wants you back in Gotham by tomorrow, so, in the morning, I’ll have a car take you to the airport. Slade will pick you up once you land.”

Grinning, Harley crossed the living room, plopping down next to Pamela on the love seat. “I’m gonna be in the title fight, huh?”

“You are.”

Harley’s eyes were glossing over with tears. “See, Red? What’d I tell ya? Never say never.”

Pam smiled too, trying hard to keep any hint of sadness out of her expression. She knew this would come at a cost, though what would have to be sacrificed and to what degree, she wasn’t sure. “I shouldn’t have doubted you, Harl.”

Harley kissed her then, and although Pamela was past caring whether her mother approved of her homosexuality, she was really hoping this was not the moment Lillian chose to walk in, as she wasn’t prepared to defend the fate of her soul for the 8th time today.

“I have to stay for the will reading tomorrow, so I’ll have to meet you back home,” Pam said, after they broke apart. “I’ll probably head straight to the office once I land.”

“Because of this thing with Kate and Mistah J?” Harley asked.

“Yes…” Pam wiped the happy tears from Harley’s cheeks. “Among other things.”

“Hey, Red, listen,” Harley cupped Pam’s hand on her face, holding it there against her cheek. “I love you, OK? And I’m gonna kick Kate’s ass for ya. You have my word.”

Pamela leaned forward, planting a kiss on the blonde’s forehead. “Thank you, Harley, but you don’t have to defend my honor.”

“No, I want to,” Harley insisted. “They’re tryin’a make you sound like a bad person, and you’re not. Would a bad person let me live with them? I don’t think so. Would a bad person help me get my money back from Mistah J? Nuh-uh. You’re the hottest, smartest, funniest person I know, and I don’t get like even half your jokes. If you took advantage of me, or whatever, then that’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”

_Goddamn it._

/

It took some effort to coax Harley out of bed in time for her to catch her taxi and flight the next morning, but Pamela was ultimately successful, and after a perhaps overindulgent kiss goodbye (being that they were only going to be apart for a few hours) Harley was off.

It was 6am, the will reading wasn’t until noon, but Pamela knew she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that day, so she changed into her jogging clothes.

Her feet carried her down the same path she’d taken every morning before school. The goal was to clear her head, but that seemed an impossible task as she slowed to a stop at the edge of the pond.

Pamela had known a variety of careers in her 35 years, but this was the first time she was facing the possibility of being forced out of one. Previously, she’d transitioned fields because a different, better, more lucrative opportunity presented itself. This time, if everything really did come crashing down, it would not be because the grass was greener somewhere else.

Her feelings about her profession were complicated. On one hand, it was never something she saw herself doing, the science was beginning to become repetitive, and she didn’t feel challenged by it in any sense. But on the other hand, this is the closest she’d ever felt to a group of coworkers, she could put very little effort in and still make an exorbitant amount of money, and it had introduced her to Harley. The last one she couldn’t comfortably file under ‘pro’ or ‘con’ yet. She wasn’t able to verbalize it, but Pamela had never claimed to care about disappointing people—not her parents, not her exes…but Harley was a different breed. Disappointing Harley might actually affect her, and that was a terrifying concept. One that implied something Pamela wasn’t ready to face.

She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there, at the edge of the pond, watching as the water rippled with the breeze. There was a certain serenity here that couldn’t be achieved in Gotham City. It was perhaps the only thing she missed. The quiet. The isolation. Her mother would get to enjoy that, alone, for the rest of her life. Widowed before 60, what an accomplishment.

Pamela walked back up to the house rather than ran, giving into her reeling thoughts. She didn’t want to go down like this, in disgrace. On her heels was not a position she was terribly familiar with (on her back, however…), and she was already beginning to resent it.

Lillian was sitting on the front porch, two cups of coffee in hand when Pam returned. “Harleen didn’t feel the need to say goodbye?”

“No,” Pam replied, scaling the steps apprehensively. “Is that cup for me?”

“It is,” Lillian placed it on the small table between the two porch chairs. “I didn’t want you making a mess of my kitchen.”

Pam took the coffee without sitting down in the vacant chair. “When have I ever made a mess? Honestly.”

“You seem to have made a mess of your professional life by blurring it with your personal one,” her mother pointed out, taking a sip from her own mug. “If you can’t be trusted to draw someone’s blood without sleeping with them, how am I supposed to trust you with my Italian coffee maker?”

“The correlation there might be a bit of a stretch.”

Lillian cleared her throat. “You know, your father never did like that Kane woman.”

Pam raised a questioning eyebrow. “How did daddy know Kate Kane?”

“Oh, he always watched those silly matches,” Lillian said like this shouldn’t be news. “We agreed it was an odd career choice for you, but he enjoyed the spectacle, at the very least.”

“Huh…” Pam said, taking her first drink of coffee. She made a mental note to figure out what machine had made it so she could purchase one for herself. “Daddy never struck me as a fan of spectacle.”

“Maybe people change.”

Squinting, Pam mulled that over. “Evolve, maybe. But oh, wait, I forgot you don’t believe in evolution.”

Lillian shook her head. “We almost had a nice moment, there.”

“Sure. Almost,” Pamela pushed the front door open. “Thanks for the coffee.”

She was all packed up by the time noon rolled around. The will reading wasn’t supposed to take more than a half hour, so Pam had bought herself a seat on the 2:30 flight back to Gotham. Her plan was to have a car ready and waiting so that she could leave as soon as she’d heard what she needed to hear from the estate lawyer.

Lillian had been Robert Isley’s first and only spouse, and Pamela had been his only offspring. He had no other living family, so it was just Pam, her mother and the lawyer in the living room waiting to hear how things would be divided between them.

“Are we ready to begin?” the lawyer asked.

“Yes,” Lillian affirmed, sitting in her husband’s chair, knees together, hands folded neatly in her lap.

Pam nodded from where she stood behind the couch.

The lawyer cleared his throat before beginning, speaking like he was auditioning for Shakespeare in The Park. “This is the last Will and Testament of Robert P. Isley. I, Robert P. Isley, resident of the city of Leesburg, County of Loudon, State of Virginia, being of sound mind, not acting under duress or undue influence, and fully understanding the nature of—,”

Pamela checked her watch, already bored.

“—and hereby revoke any and all other wills and codicils heretofore made by me.”

_Alright, let’s cut to the chase._

“To my wife, Lillian Isley, I leave all of my property and real estate holdings, both private and commercial, as well as the funds in all joint accounts—,”

Pam’s phone vibrated in her hand.

**Selina: When do you get in?**

She typed her reply with one hand. **I’ll be at the office by 5.**

**Selina: come straight to me, don’t talk to the press again.**

**That was the plan.** Pam locked her phone, returning her attention to the task at hand.

“—my eldest and only daughter, Pamela Lillian Isley, I leave the controlling interest of my corporation, Isley’s Artisan Meats—”

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” Pam interrupted.

Lillian’s disbelief and frustration were just as obvious as her daughter’s. “Good lord, Robert, why?” she buried her face in her hands.

“These are Mr. Isley’s wishes,” the lawyer said, getting back to the document. “Along with the remainder of my stock portfolio and the contents of my personal checking account after my funeral has been paid for, and so long as Pamela was in attendance.”

“Well, that seems a little vindictive,” Pam said, interrupting the proceedings once more. “I don’t want his pocket change, anyway. I really don’t need his money, and I certainly don’t need his company.”

“There’s close to 400 thousand dollars in that account, Pamela, I’d hardly call it pocket change,” Lillian scoffed. “There’s no need to be ungrateful.”

“I’m not being ungrateful, Mother, I just have a job. Something you lack,” was Pam’s terse response. “What he’s left you is all you’ll have.”

“You may not have a job for much longer,” Lillian reminded her.

“I make 2 million dollars per ye—,”

“And your father was worth 1 billion,” Lillian cut her off. “You’ll take what he’s given you and be grateful. Being gifted controlling interest in a Fortune 500 company typically isn’t something people throw tantrums over.”

Pam blinked. “I must have been an incredibly well-behaved child if you think this is what a tantrum looks like. I thought we agreed I wouldn’t be responsible for the company.”

“Evidently your father had other plans!” Lillian shouted, standing now.

“Um, excuse me, Pamela?” the lawyer stepped between them, which was the precise moment Pam realized he was still there. “I’m now supposed to hand you this.” He produced that thick, manila envelope that Pamela recognized from the top drawer of her father’s desk. The one she already knew contained her sustainable procedure recommendations. “He said you should be able to hit the ground running.”

So maybe the grass wasn’t greener. Maybe it was stained with blood and pig shit.


	21. Chapter 21

“Dr. Isley!”

“Jesus, are we back to this, again?” Pam asked, face to face with Barbara as soon as the elevator doors slid open. “I texted you this morning, you can’t be this excited to see me.”

The two women walked, in lockstep, towards Bruce’s office.

“I just wanted to warn you that Selina’s been a bit yell-y today and she and Bruce are already waiting,” Barbara said.

“I figured as much.”

“How was your flight?”

“Fine. Although my headphones are hardly noise canceling.”

“I can research a new pair for you.”

“Sure, do that.”

They arrived in Bruce’s waiting room, his receptionist giving Pam the nod that meant ‘you can go right in’.

With a deep breath, Pam turned to Barbara and asked, “How do I look? Worthy of risking this entire organization’s reputation?”

Barbara gave her a quick up and down glance. “Yeah, Boss, sure. Good luck.”

Pam offered Barbara a semi-convincing smile, pushed the door open…and Selina’s gaze was immediately judgmental.

“Shit, are you still sad?” she asked, her tone laced with faux concern.

“No, but the condolences are appreciated,” Pam said, stopping near Bruce’s couch and crossing her arms. “Why?”

Selina frowned. “I don’t know. Your look is throwing me off.”

“My expression?”

“No, your look,” Selina waved her hand at Pam’s general being. “Something is off.”

“I mean…” Pam looked down, studying herself for a moment. “I am wearing jeans.”

Selina cocked her head, adding that to whatever mental calculation was underway. “Oh, OK, yes, that’s it. I’ve never seen you in jeans. It’s depressing, for some reason.”

“I think they fit her pretty well,” Bruce weighed in from where he sat behind his desk. “I mean, they’re definitely flattering.”

“Yes, well, anything is flattering on me,” Pam agreed. The three of them sat in a strange silence after that before Pam cleared her throat to shake that off. “What a stupid way for us to begin this discussion.”

“Sorry,” Selina apologized, leaning back against Bruce’s desk. “It’s been a stressful morning and I wasn’t expecting denim-gate on top of it. But anyway,” she continued on before Pam could interject. “Quinzel needed a better crash course in media management.”

Pam was already worried. “What do you mean?”

Selina picked up the remote for Bruce’s TV, turning it on to reveal a paused ESPN segment that depicted Harley, in the sunglasses and athleisure wear she’d worn onto the plane, trying to get through a crowd of reporters that had camped out in front of the building. She pressed ‘play’, and it took everything in Pam not to cover her eyes. This wasn’t going to be good.

_“Harley! Harley! Harlequin! Harley!”_

Slade was walking next to her, which put Pam slightly more at ease, although she knew Selina wouldn’t be showing this to her unless it was a train wreck.

_“Do you have any response to the allegations levied against—,”_

_“Alright, listen up,”_ Harley stopped, interrupting the reporter before they could finish their question. _“There is no allegation, OK?”_ Slade was pulling subtly on her arm, trying to get her to move on, but Harley wasn’t budging. _“It ain’t Pam’s fault Kate felt like cheating on her wife, and I ain’t alleging anything. The only guy calling Pammy the antichrist is the grown man who started f*ckin’ me when I was 16 and making me do coke before fights. So how ‘bout you run with that headline, huh? That mother*cker Jared got me hooked on the same shit that killed my mama. How ‘bout you launch an investigation into him, huh? Worst thing Pammy ever did was put me on a diet and withhold an orgasm or two. That’s all I’ve got ta say.”_ She pushed the microphone out of her face and that’s when Selina paused it again.

“So,” Selina was the first to speak. “Like I said, it’s been a stressful morning.”

“That’s been running in a loop on segment after segment all day,” Bruce said. “On the plus side, it seems mainstream sports media might actually be taking an interest in women’s boxing. I like that Harley went after Kate, that’s going to help sell tickets to their fight. But her roping Jared back into things is going to complicate our legal case, and her defending you is not something that people have been responding well to.”

“I’d like it on the record that I specifically told her not to talk to the press,” Pam defended herself.

“We’re absolutely not keeping a record of this,” Selina said, shutting the TV off and setting the remote on Bruce’s desk. “Luckily, the fans don’t blame her, they blame you, which puts us in an uncomfortable position.”

“Selina, you are not going to sell me out like this.”

“No one is selling anyone out, Pamela,” Bruce assured her.

“I have never let my personal relationship with an athlete effect whether or not they pass their drug screening,” Pam made that clear. “Every pass or fail is determined by you two. It’s my job to make the results match the ones you’ve predetermined, and every report I’ve ever filed is absolutely air tight. You know that. I’m the only one who could do this job the way you want it done.”

“We agree,” Bruce said, nodding solemnly. “That’s why we’re going to give you two a choice.” He leaned forward, pressing the intercom button on his phone, “Carrie, send them in when they’re ready.”

A moment later, the door behind Pam opened, the redhead turning to see Harley and Slade file into the office. Harley still had her hand wraps on, sweaty from the workout this had clearly interrupted. Slade looked supremely inconvenienced.

“Make it quick,” Slade said, shutting the door behind them. “This one gained 5lbs over the weekend eating ham.”

“Did you guys know Pammy was like a pork princess?” Harley asked the group, unbothered by her coach’s harshness, as she took a seat on the couch near where Pam was standing.

“Yes,” Selina confirmed. “It was grotesque when Gillian Flynn did it and it remains that way now.”

“I’m actually The Pork Queen now,” Pam corrected. “But we can get into that later. First, propose your Sophie’s choice so we can get on with our evening.”

Bruce cleared his throat, gearing up. “I want to start by saying we’d like the decision to be unanimous to avoid any discontentment.”

Pam was already rolling her eyes. “Just get on with it.”

“Harleen,” Selina addressed the blonde directly, bypassing Pam altogether. “You can either have Pamela and lose the title fight or dump her and win it. I’m sorry for the High School Musical level cliché, but you have to choose one or the other.

Harley’s brow knit together, and with an awkward little laugh she asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Pamela is very good at her job and has, at this point, become a close, personal friend,” Selina explained. “I’m going to do everything in my power to keep her where she’s at rather than bend to the exhausting ‘double standard’ think pieces and fire her. Right now, based on online polling, there’s strong support for both you and Kate, meaning we’re going to sell a lot of tickets regardless of the outcome.”

Harley was glancing between Selina and Pamela. “Well, that’s a good thing, right?”

“It is,” Selina nodded. “But I cannot have the winner of this match sleeping with the woman whose job it is to make sure everyone is playing fair. And I like you a lot better than Kate at the moment, which is why I’m letting you choose your destiny here. So what’s it going to be?”

Harley’s brain was working overtime to process all that information. “But, I don’t—how can I choose—how can I choose if I win or not?” was the first coherent question she was able to form. “I don’t understand. I mean, me and Kate are still gonna fight, yeah? That’s—I mean, I’m going to try to win, but—,”

 _Fuck_ , Pam closed her eyes. _And here’s the other shoe._

“No,” Selina cut her off. “This isn’t going to be like the last time you fought Kate. You won’t be going rogue.”

“Rogue?”

“We’re going to come up with a game plan and stick to it. The difference is, you get to choose this time, not us.”

Harley was on her feet now. “Whaddya mean _choose_?”

“Yes, choose,” Selina repeated. “We choose our winners based on what makes the more compelling story, but in this scenario, you and Kate both have equal claim. So the choice is yours. Do you want to win a title? Or do you want to be with Pamela.”

Harley was slowly backing up, something Pam couldn’t be sure was even a conscious motion. “So you—so you mean, like, when I knocked Talia out, and when I…when I beat Steph and Tatsu, I was—that wasn’t really me, then? I mean, they were supposed to lose?”

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed.

Slade stopped her before Harley could back up into the window.

“But—but why would somebody lose on purpose?”

“If you go down at the right time, then you receive a bonus,” Selina explained. “Your former manager should have gone over that with you.”

Harley wasn’t looking at Selina anymore, her big blue eyes were searching Pam now. “That’s cheating. Red, did you—did you know about this? Did you know they were cheating?”

Pamela was having a difficult time maintaining eye contact with her. “Yes, Harley. It wouldn’t be a very effective operation without my help.”

Harley’s jaw shook, close to both tears and rage. “Is that why it was so hard for you to say you were proud? Because there was nothin’ to be proud of?”

“No, Harley,” Pam took a step towards her. “Of course I’m proud of you. The progress you’ve made with Slade has been incredible, you’ve come so far and worked so hard.”

“How come nobody told me?” Harley asked, though the question wasn’t aimed at anyone specifically. “How come I’m the only one who didn’t know?”

Selina took it upon herself to answer, “To be honest, after your first fight, we decided you couldn’t be trusted to follow directions, so we cut you out of the conversation.”

Harley’s usually pale skin had turned a nearly fire hydrant red. “This is crazy. I’m a professional boxer. How can this be how you guys run a professional boxing league?”

Sighing, Selina reminded her that, “It’s still Gotham, Sweetheart.”

Harley’s frustration was now being directed at Slade. “You knew too? Why are you even my coach if everything is an act?”

Slade’s gaze was softer than usual, though his delivery remained gruff. “You needed to be taught discipline.”

“This is fuckin’ stupid,” Harley said. “And it ain’t what I signed up for.”

Bruce sounded legitimately distressed to have to break this to her: “Of course it is. This is how it works here, Harleen. Same way it does in the underground, our operation just runs a little smoother up here.”

“We need a decision, Quinzel,” Selina brought them all back to the task at hand. “Kate will be here in 30 minutes and we need to tell her what the plan is.”

“The plan is fuck you guys!” Harley laughed, high and panicked. “The plan is I ain’t playin’ your game. The plan is I’m gonna win fair and square and you assholes can watch it happen.”

“You won’t win fair and square, Harleen,” Selina assured her. “If you walk out of this room right now then we’ll be betting against you, meaning Kate Kane will have every incentive to beat you to a pulp. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Harley flipped them off with both hands, the door’s soft close behind her a tad anti-climactic.

“Well, that didn’t quite go as planned,” Bruce summarized, earning an annoyed look from Selina and a far angrier one from Pamela.

“That was a little harsh, don’t you think?” Pam ridiculed.

“I agree,” Slade said, not that Pam needed an ally.

Selina closed her eyes, massaging her temples. “Fix it, Pam,” she intoned. “This is a mess.”

With a disappointed shake of her head, Pamela left the room, jogging after Harley into the hallway. She spotted her about to board the elevator. “Harley! Harleen, wait!”

The blonde saw her, but then immediately looked away, tapping her foot like that might help speed the elevator’s arrival.

“Harley…” Pam slowed to a stop next to her. “I’m so sorry. It’s not as simple as it seems, I promise. The outcomes don’t make you any less talented, I—,”

“When I said ‘fuck you guys’, that meant you, too, Pamela,” Harley snapped. “Us sleeping together doesn’t make you less of an asshole, it makes you an even bigger one.”

“OK, hold on,” Pam positioned herself between Harley and the elevator. “I think ‘sleeping together’ is a glib descriptor.”

Harley rolled her eyes, mumbling. “You’re so fuckin’ pretentious…”

Pam chose to ignore that. “You told me you loved me.”

“Yeah,” Harley acknowledged, taking a more offensive stance. “And you never said it back, so fuck you.” The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open, and Harley pushed past Pamela to get in.

“Harley, please,” Pam followed, the doors enclosing the two women in the small space together. “I care about you deeply, I—,”

“Shut up!” Harley screamed; a reaction Pam was not expecting. “That’s the exact bullshit Mistah J would feed me. I don’t wanna hear it anymore! You either love me, or you’re using me. Actually, you know what? Using me is exactly what you’re doin’. You, Bruce, Selina and even Slade.”

Pam was trying hard to keep her own temper under control. “I wish I could make it different, Harley, but like Bruce said, this is how it works. Me operating as I always have within this organization does not mean I don’t care about you.”

Before Pamela could react, Harley’s hands were fisting in the fabric of her oxford shirt and she was being slammed against the elevator doors, the movement ripping two buttons clean off. “You know the difference between you and Mistah J?” Harley snarled, her saliva spattering Pam’s ear. “He could hurt me, and not just with his words. And I’ll tell you what I realized, when I’d be layin’ on the floor in a pool of my own blood: I realized gettin’ my feelings hurt wasn’t so scary anymore. Doesn’t matter how smart you are, Pamela, or how mean, because this?” Harley pulled upwards until Pam’s feet were barely touching the floor. “This is power.”

“Harley,” Pamela’s voice was hoarse. “Please let me go.”

Harley did as she was told, shoving Pam out of the elevator when they arrived at the basement level. “I guess that’s the difference between me and Mistah J,” she watched Pam stumble to find her own balance, the redhead quickly retreating as soon as she did, backwards down the hallway towards her lab, and Harley followed. “I wouldn’t use it. The difference between you and Mistah J, though? You don’t have it.” She had Pamela backed up against the door to her lab now. “So you find other ways to control people.”

“Harley…” was all Pam dared to breathe, tears gathering in her eyes, though she wasn’t sure if they were inspired by fear or heartbreak.

“Control…power…over somebody, over me…it’s all the same bullshit,” Harley had that look in her eye that told Pam there would be no reasoning with her. This was the mania she wore into the ring. Not the performance art, but the genuine trauma laid bare, and Pam was at her mercy. “You just wrap yours in a prettier package.” She took a step back, not touching Pamela again. “See ya around, Red.”


	22. Chapter 22

Harley had walked off in the direction of the gym, but Pam didn’t dare follow. Her feet remained cemented where Harley had left her, back pressed against the door to her lab, chest heaving in a pattern of ragged breathing that felt out of her control. She blinked, the tears that had been gathering in her eyes falling down her cheeks.

It took a moment of standing alone in that silent hallway for Pamela to get a handle on herself. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and swallowed, hard, re-doing the French tuck of her shirt before starting back towards the elevator.

When she arrived at the executive floor, Barbara was sitting at her desk, and looked up to watch Pam exit the elevator, on a b-line to her office.

“Hey, are you OK?” Barbara asked, standing up when she noticed Pam’s disheveled appearance. “Dr. Isley? What happened to your shirt?”

“It’s fine,” Pam said, not stopping to let her assistant get a closer look. Instead, she grabbed the stack of reports she had to finalize from her desk, tucking them under her arm. “I’ll be working from home for a day or two,” she turned, finding Barbara had followed her. “If you could forward me the new hGH profile discrepancy, that would be helpful.”

Barbara was blocking the doorway. “What did Bruce and Selina say? Are you…did we get—,”

Pam shook her head. “No, I’m fine. We’re fine. But if you could pass the message along to them about me working from home, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure…” Barbara was hardly convinced, although she did step aside to let her pass by. “Pamela, wait,” she stopped her just as Pam was pressing the button for the elevator. “You’re upset, and I’m not sure if it’s because of your dad dying or the sporting world labeling you a sexual predator, both or neither, but I’m free for lunch, if you—you know, want to be unprofessional about it.”

“Um, thank you, but…no,” Pam said, although she did feel a tug of hesitation. “I should probably be alone for now.”

Barbara nodded in understanding. “I’ll forward your calls to your cell. I can also order some dinner for you and have Harley pick it up on her way home, if that’s helpful?”

The elevator car announced its arrival with a ‘ding’. “Thank you for the offer,” Pam stepped inside, pressing the button that would take her to the lobby. “But I doubt Harley will be coming home tonight.”

/

Pamela dragged her suitcase up her front steps, unlocking the door from an app on her phone and shutting it behind her. She’d only been away for a few days, but it had felt like an eternity.

The house was silent. There was no Britney Spears blasting from the outdoor speakers, no stupid tiger documentary shouting from the living room TV. The stench of greasy pizza and sweaty gym clothes had also dissipated since they’d been away, leaving Pamela with only the smell of her flowers and the lemon-scented disinfectant her housecleaners must have used that morning. Hopefully, they’d watered her plants like she’d asked…they sometimes neglected to do that…

She left her suitcase by the door and scaled the stairs, dropping her stack of paperwork on her kitchen island and immediately reaching for the wine. After pouring herself a glass, she closed her eyes, bending over to rest an elbow on the countertop, rocking subtly back and forth.

“Fuck,” she whispered, her hands clenching into fists and movement ceasing. “Fuck.” Tears were gathering in her eyes again, so she stood up straight, running a quick hand through her hair and roughly wiping them away before taking a gulp from her wine glass.

The glass shook in her hand as she lowered it back to the counter. The tremors were from the physical violation, that was easy to diagnose. The tears, though, were something else entirely. She felt small. Small and so very…sad.

Pamela had worked hard to create an efficient existence. She’d essentially cut her parents out of her life because they’d never done anything but diminish her, and now her father was dead, and she’d made a point not to say goodbye. What was there to say? What was the point of telling him what a disappointment he’d been? How would that have been helpful for either party? And now she was supposed to run his company? A business atop an industry that she’d abhorred since childhood. Why had he kept her recommendations so close to him all these years? Why had he asked her to hit the ground running? Had she, in actuality, been contracted to write that report for her future self? Had that been a test? Would he have told her that on his deathbed or would he have maintained that stiff upper lip that had robbed Pamela of a relationship with him?

The worst thing was none of these questions were rhetorical, but who was she supposed to ask? Her mother? Maybe Lillian could answer a few, and maybe that would bring her some peace, but in that case, Pamela feared the cure might be more torturous than the disease, and she didn’t feel like subjecting herself to that right now.

She was alone, and for the first time in a long time, that felt like a complication rather than a relief.

Pamela knew she’d made a mistake with Harley. She should have cleared things up sooner, but when it became obvious Harley didn’t know how things really worked at WBA, it was already too late, the truth was going to break her heart no matter what and Pamela…she didn’t…she hadn’t been ready to lose her yet. Still wasn’t ready, in fact.

But now she found herself afraid, of everything. Of her uncertain professional future, of being without Harley, of being with Harley. It had all come to a head so suddenly, and she was making decisions and decisions were being made for her faster than she could cope.

At 9:03 Pamela was distracted from her thoughts by the front door unlatching and then opening, the unmistakable squeak of Harley’s converse in the foyer.

She blinked at the clock on the oven. _9:03?_ _How is that possible?_ Pam was in the same place she’d been since 7pm, though the wine bottle was now much closer to empty.

Cautiously, Pamela righted herself, standing up straight and watching the stairs, waiting for Harley to appear. Her heartrate rose, pulse thrumming in her ears. Seemed her fight or flight response was to freeze. When Harley did appear, it was with her gym bag over her shoulder, her hair nearly molded into the shape of her ponytail despite there being no hairband present.

“I didn’t think you’d come home,” Pam said, surprising herself by speaking first.

It seemed Harley hadn’t noticed her standing there before because her posture changed after Pam spoke, her shoulders broadening and chest puffing. “I’m not staying, just here to get some clothes.”

“OK,” was Pam’s only response. She and Harley looked at each other for a moment, Harley now the one avoiding eye contact.

Harley cleared her throat, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence. “How come you’re still wearing that shirt?”

“I don’t know,” Pamela answered honestly. “I’m not sure where my evening went.”

Harley nodded like she understood. “I get that sometimes,” her voice was quieter now, looking past Pam rather than at her. “After fights or after Jared, y’know. I’m glad I didn’t hurt’cha, I’d feel real bad about that.”

“You did hurt me,” Pam found herself saying. “I’m—my head is killing me, I can feel a welt forming, I have bruises on my back from when you slammed me against the wall and bruises on my shoulders from when you lifted me off my feet. You certainly could have hurt me worse, though, that’s true.”

“Well…” Harley’s eyes fell to the floor. “That’s nothin’, really.”

They were quiet again.

“Where will you be staying?”

“With Steph,” Harley said, adjusting her bag. “I didn’t handle you any rougher than when we’re havin’ sex.”

_Since when is she friends with Steph?_ “Yes you did,” Pamela disagreed. “And even if you hadn’t, I didn’t consent to how you treated me this afternoon.”

Harley scoffed. “How I treated you? How about how you treated me? How about you lyin’ ta me this whole time? How about you not bein’ honest about how you felt about me?”

“I was never dishonest about that,” Pam countered. “Not about how I feel about you. I care about you, Harleen, I really do, but if I tell you I love you and it’s a lie, that lands us in the same place we are now.”

“OK, sure, fine,” Harley dropped her bag on the floor, standing on the other side of the island now, leaning over it. “Let’s be totally honest with each other then, sound good? You hate your mom so much but you’re just like her, empty wine bottle and everything.”

Pamela took her glass to the sink, shaking her head as she did. “I don’t want to do this with you again, Harley.”

But Harley didn’t seem interested in stopping things there. “You act like your life was so sad because your parents wish you were straight, or whatever. I got beat, Pamela. Everyday. And if I wasn’t getting’ beat I was—,”

Instead of setting her glass in the sink, Pamela threw it, the glass shattering, littering the chrome basin with its shards. “You can’t use that against me!” she shouted, spinning to face Harley. “I’ve respected your boundaries around your past, I’ve asked to hear about what you went through, and every single time you say you don’t want to talk about it, but here you are, holding it over my head like I don’t care or understand as soon as it’s convenient for you. How am I supposed to love you if there’s always some trauma you’re hiding from me? Or keeping in your back pocket so you can guilt trip me about my own suffering! Why don’t you tell me, Harley? I brought you home, I let you meet what is left of my family, I did my best to show you why I am the way I am. So if you want to tell me about your past, please, I’m all ears. Tell me every terrible detail, but for the love of God don’t use your fists to do it.”

“Oh, you’ve suffered?” Harley laughed at that. “You suffered in that big fancy house with the butler and the fuckin’ horse stable?”

The tears were back, Pamela had cried more today than she had in the last 10 years combined. “Yes, Harley, I did. And I know you did too. I wish I could take all that hurt away,” she said, taking a step closer to the other woman even though her body screamed for her to retreat. “I take no pleasure in your pain, Harleen. That is the actual difference between me and Jared. You are not that little girl in that foster home anymore, you are not that desperate 16 year old crawling into Jared’s bed because it’s warmer than the bridge you slept under the night before, and you are certainly not the undisciplined, coked up, pill addicted shell of a human you were when I met you. You are a powerful, hardworking, talented fighter coached by the best mentor money can buy, with your name up in lights on boxing’s biggest marquee. But most importantly, you are a grown woman with enough money put away for a down payment on a house like this one.”

Harley sniffed, fighting off tears of her own. “Then how come you’re keeping me here?”

“I’m not!” Pam exclaimed, only a few feet between them now. “I want you here! I’m not some fucking siren who lured you to my home or to bed with me. You showed up on my doorstep. You kissed me. You fucked me.”

“Yeah,” Harley acknowledged. “And then you lied to me about somethin’ that made me feel real good about myself.”

Pam shook her head. “No, I let you keep believing the lie that Jared fed you.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I don’t know,” Pam admitted. “I’m sorry, I wish things were different. But this is where we are now, and it’s awful. You defended me on TV, Harl, I saw your interview. Why would we try to face these things alone rather than together?” they were close enough to touch now, and so Pam reached out, gently running her hands up and down Harley’s arms.

“Bein’ with you means I lose,” Harley reminded her, pulling away. “I ain’t playin’ your games, and I ain’t readin’ their scripts. I’m gonna beat Kate Kane, and then I’m gonna date someone who works no where near me, who isn’t afraid to lie about lovin’ me or whatever bullshit you said earlier, who isn’t cozy with my asshole bosses, and most importantly doesn’t get paid to watch me take a piss.” She picked up her bag and started back towards the bedroom.

Pam didn’t follow. What more was there to say?

10 minutes later, the blonde re-emerged, bag noticeably fuller. “I’ll pick up the rest’a my stuff later. And you’re outta toothpaste, by the way.”

She was gone as suddenly as she’d arrived. Pam dumped the rest of the wine from her bottle down the sink, deciding she’d deal with the broken glass in the morning.

Picking her phone and stack of paperwork up off the counter, Pam made her way to the living room, sitting down on the couch and tucking her bare feet underneath her. There were a few unread text messages for her to respond to, one from Barbara again asking if she was OK, one from Selina asking if she’d managed to get Harley under control, and one from an unknown number who turned out to be Luke Fox upon reading the message. He asked if she was ready to give a sit-down interview.

She wasn’t.

Pamela navigated to her email rather than respond to any of them, opening the document Barbara had forwarded over, and then dragging the paperwork onto her lap, flipping open the first folder.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was blessed with some incredible fan art for this story, deserves all the props, check it out on twitter: https://twitter.com/robohero/status/1257384585886928898

“I’m telling you right now, she won’t do it.”

Selina sighed, beyond annoyed at this point. “Then can I get someone to post it on her fucking twitter account?”

“Does she even have one of those?”

“Yes,” Selina confirmed, standing now so that she could pace behind her desk. “She basically just tweets youtube links to Vine compilations, but she’s amassed quite the following.”

Frowning, Pam said, “She never took much of an interest in gardening when she lived with me…”

“Jesus,” Selina stopped to look at her in utter disbelief. “How are you younger than me and still the oldest woman I know? It’s an internet thing, Pamela. What did you and Harley even talk about when you were together?”

Pamela shrugged. “We stayed in our lanes.”

“Your lanes?”

“Yes, our lanes,” Pam repeated. “I didn’t attempt to bounce my working theory on actionable plant-animal hybridization off of her and she didn’t ask me to be in any of her Tik Tok videos. We did our best to play to each other’s strengths.”

“OK, whatever,” Selina resumed her pacing. “Just promise me you’ll wait until this all blows over before moving to whoever is next on your list.”

“I don’t…I don’t really want to be with anyone else,” Pamela admitted. “If it was up to me, we’d still be together.”

Stopping again, Selina asked, “Have you told her that?”

“I have.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said she’d be back for the rest of her stuff later…and then she said I was out of toothpaste.”

“Alright, well when she comes back for her shit, ask her again, but with your tits out this time,” Selina suggested. “Much higher success rate that way.”

Pamela rolled her eyes. “I wish you’d take my relationship more seriously.”

Her phrasing seemed to intrigue Selina. “Your relationship? Were you and Harley in a relationship, Pamela?”

“Yes, you asshole,” Pam stood, she couldn’t spend any more time on that goddamn couch. All week she’d been in meeting after meeting trying to determine the best way to not be fired and it was taking literal years off of Pamela’s life, she could feel it. “She was living with me! I introduced her to Barbara Ann, I introduced her to my mother, how else could I have communicated to you that we were in a relationship?”

“Maybe by telling me?” Selina offered. “Like, with your words? It’s too late now, but you actually vocalizing this one was important to you could have saved us all a lot of headache.”

Pam began pacing now that Selina had stopped. “It wouldn’t have made a difference, wouldn’t have changed Kate’s plan or Jared’s.”

“Sure, but I could have had our useless HR department draft a memo so at least we’d have a fucking paper trail,” Selina countered. “Instead it looks like your impropriety caught us off guard, meaning you could have been pulling the strings while our backs were turned.”

Pam groaned, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “This is so silly. I cannot believe Kate convinced Renee to go along with all of this.

“This is her last title match,” Selina said, sitting down again, just as exhausted as Pamela was, it seemed. “She may as well retire after she wins, quit while she’s ahead and invest in some more real estate or something.”

“You’re forcing her out?” Pam was surprised.

Selina scoffed. “Hardly. Five titles is enough. You were right at the beginning of the season, it’s time to see some new faces, embrace some new talent…Kate is the most prolific super lightweight WBA has ever seen, there’s no reason for her to keep going until she’s suing us for her CTE diagnosis. I told her we were seeing a downward trend in her support, and so we were going to begin phasing her out. Besides, what people really wanted to see for the title this year was a Harley vs Dinah rematch after that disqualification disaster. Instead, we’re getting this weird lesbian grudge match because you couldn’t keep it in your pants and Kate couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”

Pam supposed that partially explained Kate’s state of mind. “Harley isn’t a lesbian,” she felt the need to correct. “She’s bisexual with far superior taste in women.”

“Awesome,” Selina laughed. “I’ll have her tweet that too. Kill two very insistent birds with one stone.”

“Great, well, if we’re done here, I’d like to get back to my actual job,” Pam said, taking her script from Selina’s desk. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

Selina sighed, watching Pam leave. “I’m sorry about all of this, Pam.” The redhead stalled in the doorway to let her finish. “I’m sorry about Harley.”

Pam nodded, though she remained silent.

“Luke will be in your office at 2pm, let’s do ourselves a favor and try to be likeable.”

/

Luke Fox was punctual, and Pamela respected that in a man. For whatever reason, Pam had noticed that, traditionally, men seemed to think their time was more important than hers. From her father to college professors, to professional colleagues, to Harley’s dumpster fire of an ex-boyfriend, Pamela found men were always either 20 minutes early and expecting her to be ready, or 20 minutes late and wondering what the rush was all about. The only man Pamela had ever known to consistently be on time was Bruce Wayne. And now Luke Fox could be added to that short list, how nice for him.

Barbara showed him into Pamela’s office, knocking before she did and announcing that “Mr. Fox is here.” Pam found Barbara’s at this point over-the-top professionalism rather endearing. She knew they were dating, that had been established and re-established more times than Barbara could be confused with Pam’s ex-fiancé, but she still offered him their verbal menu of refreshment options.

“I’ll just take a water,” Luke said with a smile, that same kind, quietly charming smile Pamela had been appreciative of during their first meeting.

“Two of those, please,” Pam instructed. “Thank you, Barbara.”

Barbara nodded, offering a smile of her own before shutting the door behind her, leaving Luke and Pamela alone.

“Please, take a seat,” Pam said, holding her hand out to indicate one of the leather chairs that sat in front of her desk. He obliged her, and Pam circled around her desk to sit down. “I appreciate you coming to me, I’m always very busy before title week.”

“I can imagine.” Luke pulled his book bag onto his lap, producing his tape recorder and setting it on the arm of his chair. “Thanks for giving me the exclusive.”

“Of course, of course. You are the one who fucked me over, after all, you deserve it,” Pam’s smile and tone were cloying.

Luke raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair to size her up. “You think I fucked you over?”

“What else would you call torpedoing someone’s career by offering a newly repentant adulterer a platform for their nonsense?”

Luke chuckled at that, holding his chin in his hand, his index finger quietly tapping his lips as he considered her version of events. “I read up on you a little bit before coming here today.”

“You’re a journalist, right? Isn’t that part of your job description?”

“It is, yeah,” Luke said, not letting her escape his scrutiny. “You’ve led a pretty interesting life, as far as rich white lady lives go.”

Pamela scoffed, though she didn’t have time to respond before Barbara was re-entering the room to deliver she and Luke their bottled water. Pam thanked her with a nod, and by the time they were alone again, Luke had moved on.

“I actually called your mom to get some background, she’s a real piece of work,” he divulged. “Sorry to hear about your dad, by the way, but your mom told me Harley was at the funeral with you.”

“I never gave you permission to call my mother.”

“I don’t need your permission,” Luke reminded her. “It doesn’t seem like you introduce many of your partners to your mother.”

“I wouldn’t introduce anyone to my mother if I had the choice.”

“Right,” Luke smiled again, making sure that he was recording. “Seems like things between you and Harley were a little different than they were between you and Kate, so let’s start with Kate. When did the affair begin?”

Pam sighed. “Selina made it clear we’ll be reviewing your piece before you publish, right?” He nodded, and so, reluctantly, she answered, “It started over a year ago now and ended at the beginning of this season.”

“That’s the timeline of your physical relationship?”

“We didn’t have a relationship outside of our physical one, besides our professional relationship which we kept separate.”

“Meaning you never had sex in here?” he referred to Pam’s office.

“No,” Pam lied.

“And not in your testing lab?”

“No,” she doubled down.

“So where did your affair take place, then?”

“At her home, mostly.”

“At her home she shares with her wife?”

“The very same.”

“And you acknowledge that was wrong?”

“Sure,” Pam answered, before remembering her script. “I mean, yes, of course. I never meant to destroy a marriage, that was not my intention. I was just getting out of a serious relationship; she was having problems in hers…we were united by unfortunate circumstances and both lacked the judgement to stop things sooner. I apologize for my moral failing in that regard, but our sexual relationship was completely consensual, and it never interfered with my professional responsibilities.”

Luke nodded, appearing to accept that answer. “And you started that physical relationship with Kate before or after you broke off your engagement to Dr. Barbara Ann Minerva?”

 _Oh, come on._ “Barbara Ann isn’t a part of this. She wasn’t a subject I agreed to discuss, and she never once set foot in this building or gave a second thought to my work life. I’d appreciate it if we moved on.”

“Just trying to clarify the timeline,” Luke said, dropping his hand from his chin to tap his fingers rhythmically on the arm of his chair for a moment. “Why are you here?”

“In my office?”

“In this job,” Luke clarified. “I’m all caught up on your resume, your credentials are very impressive. Why aren’t you still helping to rehabilitate retired nuclear testing sites or disrupting the agriculture industry or some other noble pursuit? Why are you here in Gotham City?”

Pamela pursed her lips, not feeling like that question should be on the docket either. “I found myself fascinated by the regulation and enhancement of natural human ability and Bruce and Selina won me over with their passion for the sport, I promise this is by no means a fascinating origin story.”

“With the added bonus of getting to fully vet an impressive list of women who are interested in sleeping with you.”

Pam laughed. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”

“So, Harley,” Luke smiled back at her, a certain knowing in his expression. “She wasn’t like Kate; she wasn’t some emotionless rebound affair.”

“Well, I sort of resent that description, but you’re right, Harley was not like Kate,” Pam acknowledged. “Harley was in a destructive, abusive relationship that my colleagues and I helped free her from. I know she already used some rather colorful language to describe Jared’s various toxic behaviors, so I won’t get into it, but their separation left Harley homeless and so I welcomed her into my home.”

“How gracious of you,” his words dripped with satire.

Pamela rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to convince you I’m Mother Teresa, I’m just trying to explain the circumstances. I helped stop her reliance on opioids, I made sure she had adequate medical care, and I introduced her to her coach Slade Wilson.”

“And is that the typical role of the doctor in charge of drug and steroid screening at WBA?”

“No,” Pam admitted. “I wanted to help her succeed.”

“And did you? Help her succeed?”

“Not in any way that compromised my integrity. Like I said, I helped her get clean, I helped her get healthy, and I introduced her to a coach who could mold her into a competitor,” Pamela crossed one leg over the other. “Bruce and Selina preach a family dynamic here at WBA and it’s something I try to keep in mind with every athlete I work with. I didn’t expect Harley to be any different, it’s just…she was.”

“How so?” Luke wondered.

Pamela’s smile was warmer than before. “Well, firstly, she’s the most ridiculous person you’ll ever meet. For the most part, I didn’t interact with the Harley everyone sees in the ring. She’s not like that at home, really, she’s…kind, and always hungry and sometimes overly energetic. She’s playful and rather funny and genuinely interested in how I spent my day. I wish everyone could know her; I really do. I think about her all the time, especially when we’re apart but even when she’s laying in bed next to me…I wonder what she’s thinking or how she’s coping…she’s a very special person. So yes, we’ve been dating for a few months now, but her living with me means I’m able to monitor everything she ingests, so, really, she’s the most scrutinized boxer in the league from an eligibility standpoint.”

Luke chuckled. “I guess that’s one way to spin it. So you don’t feel like your relationship with her is inappropriate, then?”

“No,” Pam shook her head. “No, I don’t. Though, to be honest, we don’t have much of a relationship anymore.”

“Oh?” Luke sat forward slightly, maintaining a hint of sarcasm when he said, “Trouble in paradise?”

“This has all been rather stressful, and while training for the title fight, it’s a distraction we decided she didn’t need. It’s been difficult, but I’m committed to building Harley up, not tearing her down. So if the press wants to vilify me for my romantic choices, so be it, but we’d like to respectfully request Harley get the space she needs to properly prepare.” _Laying it on a little thick there..._

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Luke offered, sounding mostly genuine. “It seems like you two are really in love.”

“Yes, well, if you love something, you have to set it free, right?”

“So I’ve been told…” Luke let that hang there for a moment before moving on. “What would you say to those who believe that your position automatically renders your relationship inappropriate?”

Pamela cleared her throat, doing her best to remember the exact verbiage Selina had laid out for her. “I would say that it was never my intention to create a conflict of interest and I still don’t believe one exists. I have turned over my reporting for every stage of testing on each athlete, Kate and Harley included, to my superiors and, to my understanding, they’ve launched an internal investigation. I trust their handling of the situation and will defer to their judgment. The last thing I want to be is a liability to this organization or to the sport, and I hate that it took a deep dive into my personal life for the national sports media to begin highlighting the incredible accomplishments of the women competing in this league. I hope the attention doesn’t dwindle once the drama has dissipated, and I wonder if I’d be subject to the same scrutiny had my affairs been with the men I screen.”

“Alright, come on, off the record,” Luke paused his recording. “I gave both Harley and Kate in depth profiles in primetime slots this year.”

“Right,” Pam nodded. “And then you aired their matches on ESPN 2 and played their highlights after you showed the men’s.

“Those aren’t my decisions.”

“Oh, I know. But you can put that on the record, maybe after all this blows over, we can have a deeper conversation.”

“It’s a conversation I’ve been trying to have for a while,” Luke said, putting his equipment back into his bag. “I wouldn’t start holding your breath now.”

“Is that it?” Pam wondered. “Don’t tell me you’re letting me off that easily.”

Luke stood, draping his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll take care of this side of things for you if you can hold up your end of the bargain.”

“And what end is that?”

“The one where you make sure not to waste her talent.” He had his hand on the door. “I’ll forward this over to Ms. Kyle before I publish, but I can’t imagine she’ll have a problem with it. You’re welcome. Now, don’t mess this up.”


	24. Chapter 24

“Good morning, boss!” Barbara was grinning, a magazine clutched in one hand, a tray with two coffee cups in the other.

Pamela was already at her desk, an hour into her last stack of reports for the men’s super-heavyweight division. “I neglected caffeine this morning, please tell me that second cup is mine.”

“It is,” Barbara assured, handing her the cup labeled _Americano_. “Stevia, oat milk, all that jazz.”

“Thank you,” Pamela accepted it with a deep, appreciative breath. “What do you know about the meat processing industry?”

“Not much, ma’am, but wait, before we get sidetracked…” she held out the magazine, encouraging Pam to take it. “I brought an even better pick-me-up. From Luke. Hot off the presses.”

Tentatively, Pamela lifted her fingers from her keyboard, giving Barbara and the magazine her full attention. “Since when did ESPN have a print edition?”

“Since always,” Barbara answered, opening it to the correct page for her and dropping it on the desk with a certain satisfaction. “I know I’m biased, but he’s very good.”

Pamela pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, cautiously optimistic as she picked up the magazine, quickly skimming over the article. “Oh…” she said about halfway through. “Have Selina and Bruce seen this?”

“I don’t know, I brought it straight to you.”

“Are they in?”

“I don’t know,” Barbara laughed. “You got here before me, remember?”

Pamela stood, taking the magazine with her. “Let’s go, bring my coffee,” she said, leading the way out of her office and down the hall to Selina’s, Barbara hot on her heels, coffee in hand.

Selina was sitting behind her desk holding a compact in front of her face while she adjusted her contour. “Remind me not to buy this shit again,” was her greeting. “I hate it.”

“Have you read it?”

“Read what?”

“Luke’s piece!”

“Do you want me to stay or did you just want me to carry your coffee?” Barbara whispered.

“Alright,” Selina closed her compact, opening the top drawer of her desk and tossing it inside. “What’s all this about. I find this energy stressful. Are you smiling, Pamela?”

Pamela hadn’t actually noticed, but yes, she was, and she wasn’t about to tamp it down now. She handed the magazine to Selina while Barbara loitered on the outskirts of the conversation. “Have you read this?”

“Yes, he sent it to me before he published the digital version,” Selina said, though she still gave the article a look over. “It’s very good. The best case scenario, really. Bruce!” she shouted at her husband as he passed by her open office door. “Get in here, a boy was nice to Pamela, we’re celebrating.”

Bruce leaned into the open doorway. “Who? Harvey?”

“No!” Selina said like this was a revelation. “If you can believe it, it was a man who doesn’t want to sleep with her…I don’t think.”

“I hope not,” Barbara laughed awkwardly, reminding the others of her presence.

“Oh, right, he’s already found a less problematic redhead,” Selina observed. “Do you think he’d prefer an edible arrangement or a pair of Talia’s signed sparring gloves, Barbara? I can barely give those things away.”

Barbara considered. “Um, probably the gloves. But I don’t know, the edible arrangement might be nice.”

“We’ll send both,” Selina decided. “Pamela, I would like to congratulate you for not adding even one _bless your heart_ , I’m sure it was a struggle. This is what good press looks like, everyone. Enjoy it. I think it will last us until the fight, at the very least.”

“Remember to stay on message,” Bruce instructed. “That’s how we keep the press good.”

Pamela was in such a good mood, not even Bruce’s needless rephrasing could bother her.

“I mean, the press conference is going to be a mess, but that’s at least predictable,” Selina said. “Kate should stay in line now since she managed to leverage a title out of us, but Harley…who knows, really. Here’s hoping she still cares about you enough not to go nuclear.”

That statement succeeded in dampening Pamela’s mood where Bruce had failed. “Here’s hoping.”

/

Pam waited until just before 4pm to slip inside the gym. Slade hadn’t arrived yet, but Harley was already stretching near what Pam recognized as her favorite heavy bag. Stephanie was with her, her head tipped back in laughter, while Damian was wrapping his hands off to the side. They made a rather unlikely posse, but Pam was glad to see Harley had managed to create some social connections.

It was Stephanie who first noticed Pam after she’d finished laughing at whatever it was she found so funny. “Oh, dang. Looks like the doc is here to give you a pelvic exam, Harl.”

“I’m not that kind of doctor,” Pamela corrected, just making sure that was on the record.

Harley looked up at the sound of her voice, the smile melting from her face. “What are you doing here?”

Pamela faltered when she realized she wasn’t quite sure. “I knew I’d find you here, I suppose. I was hoping we could talk.”

“You mean fight?” Harley stood, balancing on one leg, lifting the other behind her and grabbing her ankle, pulling to stretch her quad. “I’m kinda sick of that.”

“I am too,” Pamela agreed, taking a step forward. “It doesn’t have to be right now, but maybe this evening, when you’re done here, we could get some dinner?”

“I’m on a pretty strict diet right now, Red. Not sure goin’ out ta eat is a good idea.”

“Of course, of course,” Pam nodded, wanting to be considerate of all Harley had going on.

“This is sad and weird,” Damian felt the need to interject. “Take a hint, Isley, it’s over.”

Pam decided that ignoring him would be the best course of action because she was about this close to ripping that child a new asshole and she doubted that would put her in good standing with Harley. “I was interviewed by Luke Fox for ESPN Magazine…I’m not sure if you’ve had a chance to read the article yet…”

“Haven’t read it,” Harley answered, switching legs. “That’s cool, though.”

“Yes, it is, um, cool,” Pam was struggling here. This _was_ sad…and weird. “I actually—here,” she produced her copy of the magazine from her briefcase, crossing the mat to hand it to Harley. “It starts on page 9.”

Harley dropped her leg, accepting the magazine with a cordial smile. “Thanks.”

“I think you’ll like it,” Pam insisted, trying to keep the conversation alive. “Some much needed good press.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you sound super smart and stuff. Anyway, I’ve got a title fight to train for, so…we’re gonna get to it,” Harley told her, bending down to grab her handwraps from where they’d been laying on the floor. “Sorry I haven’t been by for my shit, I’ve been busy.”

“No apology necessary, really,” Pamela was in no rush for Harley to clear her things out, as that felt like it would be the final nail in the coffin. “I’ll leave you be, but I just wanted to say I’m glad you’re still training with Slade.”

Harley shrugged. “Wasn’t gonna make another coaching change this late. We’ll see how things play out this offseason. I’ll read the article later, I promise.”

“Alright,” Pam smiled, relief washing over her. She spun on her heels, feeling almost buoyant as she left. After a few steps, though, she paused, quickly turning back to say, “You seem good. Clear-headed.”

“Sober, single-life,” was Harley’s explanation.

/

Her heel landed with a _thunk,_ bruising the drywall as a result of Pam kicking her shoes off. She felt lost, but more importantly like she was losing Harley. She hadn’t slept here in nearly a month and while Pamela was thinking of this as more of a break, Harley considered herself single, evidently.

Pam trudged up the stairs with a distinct lack of purpose. She was planning to pour herself a glass of wine, but then remembered Harley comparing her to her mother and thought better of it, opting for a pre-made kale smoothie instead. There was absolutely no reason for her to spiral. She’d survived 35 years without letting her feelings control her and there was no reason that had to change just because she’d decided to—momentarily—open up her heart.

Smoothie in hand, she undid the button on her slacks, pulling the zipper down in the name of comfort before sitting down on her couch. What was _happening_ to her?

For the purposes of self-flagellation (and a professional responsibility), she’d recorded Kate and Harley’s press conference. Rather than rewind to the beginning, she decided to skip the “pleasantries” and introductions, starting things 10 minutes in.

Harley and Kate were about 6 feet apart at a long table, a cluster of microphones in front of each of them. Kate was wearing her aviator sunglasses on top of her head; upper body clad in a well fitted Henley shirt that she’d paired with one of her many leather jackets. Pamela swore she must have a closet solely dedicated to them. If anyone was ever confused on what the draw to Kate Kane might be, this image of her looking effortlessly suave in a casual $1500 outfit was a fantastic illustration.

Meanwhile, Harley looked like she’d come straight from the gym as she was dressed in the same baggy tank top and neon sports bra Pam had seen her in earlier that day. She’d also neglected to put her stage makeup on like she had for previous press conferences, opting for only her pigtails.

Pam turned the volume up to hear whatever Kate was saying.

_“—a speed bump or two, but I’m back, exactly where I want to be and it feels good.”_

_“And what about your marriage?”_ an offscreen reporter asked, their voice muffled.

 _“It’s good, it’s—complicated,_ ” Kate said. _“It took me coming to terms with the fact that I wasn’t the center of the universe to open up a dialogue, but we’re in a good spot.”_

There was some mixed laughter in the room, which Kate smiled at—that practiced, self-indulgent smile that Pamela wished she hadn’t found so appealing.

_“Is the scandal a motivator for you?”_

_“I mean, sure,”_ Kate chuckled, pulling her sunglasses down in front of her eyes to run a hand through her hair. _“Not that I spend much time thinking about my ex-mistress’ new fling. I guess mockery really is the sincerest form of flattery.”_

That caught Harley’s attention. _“What’s that supposed ta mean?”_

Kate leaned closer to her microphone, smirking in Harley’s direction. _“You better get that ear drained, Quinzel. I think it’s starting to effect your hearing.”_

_“I cannot wait to kick the sh*t outta you.”_

_“Hey, no kicking, remember?”_ Kate teased. _“I’m just saying, some originality wouldn’t hurt.”_

 _“Harley, Harley,”_ a reporter interrupted the exchange before Harley could return fire. _“As a rookie gearing up for her first title match, how are you dealing with the distractions outside the ring?”_

The blonde rolled her eyes. _“You can just say ‘Pam’.”_

 _“Do you find the relationship distracting?”_ the same reporter rephrased.

 _“No,”_ Harley stated, simply. _“I’m sure all your guys read the article, we’re givin’ each other some space so I can win this thing. She made it pretty clear that any questions about that s*it can be directed at her, so I don’t know why you’re still askin’ me.”_

 _“Lay off, guys, come on. Seems like it might be a touchy subject,”_ Kate mocked.

_“How do you game plan for the Harlequin, Kate?”_

_“I don’t,”_ Kate answered honestly. _“I mean, jesus, she’s a mess! There’s no strategy there. Actually, serious question,”_ she turned to Harley again. _“How did you and Pam stand each other? With your chaos and all her control issues.”_

Pam knew why Kate was taking this approach, she was using this catfight to get free publicity for an actual showcase of her talents. Pam couldn’t exactly blame her, it was a shrewd and obviously effective strategy, but she was still about to throw her remote at the TV.

Harley seemed to be wrestling with a similar reaction. _“How ‘bout you worry about your wife and I’ll worry about mine—I mean, my girlfriend—I mean, my Pam. How ‘bout you fuck off,” was what she ultimately landed on. “Either we talk about the fight or I’ve got better s*it to do.”_

Not quite grasping what she’d just heard, Pamela sat up straighter, rewinding 10 seconds to the beginning of Harley’s flustered retort.

_“—and I’ll worry about mine—I mean, my girlfriend—I mean, my Pam.”_

Pamela paused it there, letting that sink in. Maybe Harley hadn’t moved on after all.

Riding a sudden swell of determination, Pamela grabbed her phone, dialing her assistant to see if Harley was still at the complex. They needed to talk; Pam wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

…except she dialed the wrong Barbara, and worse than that? She’d facetimed her. Mistakes she didn’t realize until she was looking at a strange angle of Barbara Ann’s new partner, Diana.

 _“It’s Pamela,”_ Diana was saying.

 _“Why?”_ Barbara Ann wasn’t visible on screen, but that was certainly her voice.

_“I don’t know. Would you like me to answer?”_

_“No, I think you’d better not.”_

“You actually already have,” Pam spoke up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—,”

 _“Pamela!”_ Diana exclaimed, holding the phone in front of her face now, giving Pam a quick refresher on just how flawless she was. _“What a wonderful surprise! The fundraiser was a fantastic success, did Barbara reach out to thank you for your donation?”_

“You know, she didn’t, but that’s absolutely OK,” Pamela assured. “It’s probably good we—,”

 _“Barbara!”_ Diana scolded. _“Is this any way to treat someone you once loved?”_

 _“Blimey,”_ Barbara muttered before taking the phone, wearing a rather exaggerated smile once she finally appeared on screen. _“Pamela! To what do I owe the pleasure?...and what’s gone on with your trousers?”_

Pamela glanced down, only now remembering she’d unbuttoned and unzipped them. _Well, this is the worst ever_. “I called you by accident.”

“There are no accidents, Pamela,” Diana said, returning to frame behind Barbara. “Something brought this conversation to be.”

Pam sighed, resigning herself to this rather embarrassing interaction. “I was dumped…I think.”

Both women seemed shocked, Barbara perhaps more so. _“By the amateur tattooist? That is quite the plot twist.”_

 _“What do you mean you think?”_ Diana asked for clarification. _“Are you not sure?”_

“It’s complicated,” was the best answer Pamela could give. “I still care very deeply for her, it’s just—,”

 _“But you don’t love her?”_ Diana’s perfectly groomed eyebrow was raised in judgment.

“Well, I haven’t used the word, exactly, but—,”

 _“She’s always had trouble with her feeling words,”_ Barbara explained to Diana. _“Knows every word in the dictionary but that one, it would seem.”_

Diana shook her head like this simply wouldn’t do. _“Pamela, listen to me.”_ She had a captive audience. _“To be human is to love, even when it gets too much. And you’re not ready to give up, I can see it!”_

Pamela frowned, feeling like she’d heard that before but deciding not to dwell on it. “I’m doing my best.”

 _“That’s rubbish, Pam, and you know it,”_ Barbara inserted herself, suddenly passionate. _“If this is anything like what happened with me, you are putting in 10% of the effort you should be.”_

“Then what do you suggest I do, Barbara? If my best is only 10% of my capacity?” Pam wondered, matching her intensity, very much wishing there was a bottle of champagne they could be passing between them. “What could I have done to win you back when you were slipping away?”

 _“Loved me out loud,”_ was Barbara’s answer.

“Out loud,” Pamela repeated.

 _“Yes,”_ Barbara affirmed. _“I do wish you happiness, Pamela, so it’s with all the affection I once had for you that I say…it’s nearly midnight here and we were headed to bed.”_

“I promise I didn’t mean to call you,” Pam insisted.

But Diana wasn’t done dispensing advice. _“Be grand, Pamela. Only love can truly save the world.”_

 _“…right, brilliant,”_ Barbara chuckled, side-eying Diana. _“I suppose we’re invested now, so do let us know how it all shakes out.”_

The first thing Pam did once the call ended was zip her pants back up and tuck her shirt back in. She could be upset, she could be heartbroken, but she wasn’t going to be sloppy. It simply wasn’t her brand and she wouldn’t tolerate it.

To love out loud was something Pamela had never had a talent for, likely because she’d been forced to keep everything bottled up, buried at nearly unreachable depths until she’d escaped from her parent’s house and her mother’s judgmental, overbearing gaze. But the damage was already done. Pamela chose her moments of rebellion carefully, and perhaps that was why this whole thing with Kate and Harley had so severely mangled her self-image—because she’d assumed the affair with Kate would be safe. Kate was married, Kate should have been unavailable for any meaningful connection. Kate would never know her deeply enough to hurt her the way Barbara Ann had…and that’s where Pamela had miscalculated. Kate cared so little about her that their unspoken pact of mutually assured destruction was rendered null and void once push came to shove, that and Kate’s marriage was more solid than Pam had anticipated. 

Meanwhile, Harley was supposed to be a rebound for her rebound, and yet here Pam was, calling her ex for advice on how to avoid making a mess of things this time.

Pamela pressed play on the TV once more, deciding that whatever romantic gesture she was going to attempt would require some actual reflection, something she hadn’t the headspace for at the moment.

_“—either we talk about the fight or I’ve got better s*it to do.”_

_“So what’s your strategy, Harley?”_ a reporter asked. _“This is David and Goliath, what’s the game plan?”_

Harley rocked back in her chair, laughing at the reporter’s expense. _“Why would I tell ya with her sittin’ right there? The game plan is to win, obviously. How I do it is my business.”_

_“Are you intimidated?”_

_“No,”_ Harley answered.

_“Care to elaborate?”_

_“My whole life, nobody’s bet on me. Nobody. I’m used ta people countin’ me out, so no, I’m not intimidated. This’ll just be another Saturday night for me, ‘cept for I’m going home with a belt.”_

_“I’m not worried,”_ Kate answered the question before it could be asked. _“Ultimately, win or lose, I already have what matters most—somebody who loves me, and I’m grateful every day for that.”_

 _“And who’s that?”_ Harley wondered. _“Yourself?”_

There was some dispersed laughter in the room, even Kate had a chuckle, although, even with her eyes obscured, Pam could tell it was less than genuine.

 _“There’s nothing wrong with a little good old-fashioned female self-esteem, Harl,”_ Kate taunted. _“I’m sure you’d have a healthy supply too…if you were me.”_


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a sec!
> 
> Songs are 679 by Fetty Wap ft. Remy Boyz and LLC by Nicki Minaj

“—I think it’s a conversation better suited for face to face,” Pamela said, nodding at Barbara through her windshield while showing her _one minute_ with her index finger. “I don’t expect the changes to be seamless, but I’d at least like the chance to clearly lay out my expectations for this next phase.”

_“With all do respect, Ms. Isley, that’s not really how we do things around here. I’m sympathetic to—,”_

“Well, it is now,” Pam cut him off. “And it’s _Dr._ Isley. I’ll be there by 9am Monday. I expect all mandatory personnel to be present.” And with that, he hung up, opening her car door and stepping out into the parking garage.

Barbara was there waiting for her. “Men?”

“Men,” Pamela confirmed with a despondent shake of her head. “Did everything go smoothly?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Barbara reported, reaching into her pocket for a small slip of paper. “All taken care of.”

Pam took the paper from her, studying it briefly to make sure everything was in order. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Barbara, on the contrary, she trusted her more than just about anyone, Pamela just didn’t feel she could afford a mistake today. “Remind me to ask you something important later,” she said, once she’d confirmed Barbara really had taken care of it.

“Uh, OK, sure, Boss,” Barbara said, taking out her cellphone to make a note. “Are you going to be ringside or in the skybox?”

“Skybox,” Pam answered, starting towards the elevator that would take them to the arena. “Selina included some tickets in the gift basket she sent Luke, right?”

Barbara was keeping pace beside her. “Yeah, in the skybox, actually. I’m hoping Dick decides to stay home.”

“I haven’t seen him at a single match this season, so I think your chances are good,” Pam assured her, the two of them stepping into the empty elevator car. “How do I look, by the way?”

“Spin?”

Pam obliged her. “It’s new…the tailor was at my house at 8am, poor thing.”

“I like it,” Barbara decided. “Chic, but not elitist. Sexy, but not slutty. It somehow says, ‘I’m sorry’ and reminds her of what she’s missing at the same time.”

Pamela grinned, having accomplished her mission. “Excellent.”

“Well, OK,” Barbara said once they arrived at Pam’s stop. “I guess I’ll see you in a bit.”

“I guess you will.”

“Good luck, Pam,” Barbara encouraged with a smile before the doors slid shut in front of her.

Pamela took a deep breath, alone in the hallway aside from the occasional member of the technical or medical staff. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Pamela’s new journey had already begun, and it was one she was perfectly comfortable embarking on alone or with a companion, a decision she’d accepted would be left up to Harley.

Slade wasn’t going to be happy to see her, so Pam would have to make this quick. She flashed her ID badge at the security guard outside Harley’s locker room, entering once she got the nod. Harley was sitting on a bench near the center of the room, her elbows supported by her knees and her body hunched over between them. She was wearing her custom-made two-toned shorts and matching sports bra, a beanie cap pulled down low over her ears.

Harley didn’t look up at the sound of Pamela’s heels on the cement floor, which meant she either had headphones in or was too focused on her visualization routine to pay attention to what was going on around her.

It wasn’t until Slade said, “Hey! No visitors, especially you, Isley,” that Harley lifted her head, her gaze trailing from Pamela’s heels, up her legs, stalling briefly at her chest before finally looking her in the eye.

It seemed the dress was pulling its weight. 

“I need two minutes, Slade,” Pam didn’t shift her attention from Harley. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” Harley parroted back to her, sitting up straighter.

“Did you get a haircut?” Pam asked, noticing her pigtails weren’t poking out from beneath her beanie.

“It’s for a bit.”

Pamela decided they didn’t have enough time for her to continue that line of questioning. “I wanted to wish you good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“And to give you this,” Pam continued, not allowing Harley to blow her off this time. She knelt in front of her, handing Harley the slip of paper from Barbara.

Harley frowned, reading what was printed on the front before flipping it around and then back again. “What is it? A receipt?”

“Yes,” Pam smiled, placing her hand on Harley’s thigh. “The house may not be betting on you, but I am.”

The blonde continued staring at the paper, her eyes narrowing momentarily before widening in realization. “Three hundred and fifty grand, Red?”

“It’s all the liquid inheritance my father left to me,” Pam explained. “After taxes, of course.”

Harley’s hand shook as she gave the paper back, her jaw clenching to stop its quivering. “Well, I—I guess I really gotta win now, huh?”

Pamela stood, taking the younger woman’s face in her hands, her thumb running along the scar Jared had left on her cheek as she leaned down to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. “I love you, Harley. Whatever happens, I’m in your corner.” She pulled her hands away slowly, nodding in Slade’s direction as she backed out of the room. “I’ll see you afterwards,” she told Harley, who was watching her leave with an expression Pamela could only describe as ‘lost’.

She took a moment to lean against the wall once she was back in the hallway. Pam had meant that as a motivator for Harley rather than a distraction, and she sincerely hoped she’s struck the right balance because for her it felt like the ultimate unburdening. She loved her. Pamela was in love with Harley and now Harley knew it, what she did with that information was her prerogative. All Pam could do now was settle in and watch the fight.

Thanks to Barbara, there was a champagne glass in Pam’s hand as soon as she entered the executive skybox. Luke was there, and Selina and Bruce, and Pam was about to remind Barbara that she wasn’t on the clock, but Barbara was asking, “How did it go?” before she could.

“I think she cut her hair.”

“Oh…” Barbara’s brow furrowed, turning that over in her mind to determine what it might mean. “Like, 2007 Britney or post-Twilight Kristen Stewart?”

“I’m not sure, she didn’t take her hat off.”

Barbara took that into consideration as she sipped from her own champagne glass. “It’s fine,” she eventually decided. “It’ll be fine.”

“Dr. Isley,” Luke greeted, wrapping an arm around Barbara’s waist as he came to stand beside her. “So? What’s the verdict? Did I turn you into a believable romantic lead?”

“Miraculously, in Selina’s opinion,” Pam joked, trying her best to relax into an actual conversation. “I appreciated the flowery descriptions of my obvious longing, they really sold it.”

Luke laughed. “What can I say? I write what I see, and have a weakness for purple prose.”

“Right,” Pam smirked. “And I’ve tried to follow through on my end of things, time will tell if I was equally effective.”

“I’ve got some good news for you on that front.”

“Oh?” Pam was curious.

“If a woman approached me in a dress like that, I’d buy whatever they were selling,” Luke told her. “I have a good feeling she’ll come around.”

“I told you,” Barbara giggled.

“Should be a good match,” Luke raised his glass, releasing her with a smile.

“Cheers,” Pam offered, moving past him to join Selina where she stood in her usual spot, arms crossed, champagne glass in hand, gazing out the viewing window at how things were unfolding on the arena floor. “How were ticket sales?”

“Sold out,” Selina answered, her smile illustrating her satisfaction. “Seems we were able to shit out a diamond, after all the chaos.”

Bruce was sitting behind her, eating a lobster, his title match ritual. “If Harley loses, then we’ll announce after the match that our internal investigation didn’t uncover anything illegal, just personally reckless.”

Pamela rolled her eyes. “And if she wins?”

“We’ll push the announcement back a week or two. Either way, you’ll be taken care of.”

“How valiant of you two,” Pamela chuckled. “Thank goodness my personal recklessness was able to line your pockets in the meantime.”

“Oh, stop,” Selina nudged her playfully with her shoulder. “It’s just business, Baby. Rest assured your bonus will be extra friendly this year.”

_I’m not sure I’ll need it at this point…_

Selina’s attention was pulled away when Talia entered the suite, the brunette heading straight for her and looking none too happy…but then again, when did Talia ever look happy?

Pamela took a step back, putting some space between she and Selina as she had almost zero interest in whatever co-parenting quarrel was about to take place. Unfortunately, she soon found she’d stepped directly into a reckoning of her own.

“Pamela,” Renee’s voice was low, her cadence icy and Pam jumped in reaction, she hadn’t seen her come in but now she was standing directly beside her. “You look nice.”

Puzzled by that roller coaster of a greeting, Pam glanced over at the detective, searching for some aspect of her appearance to compliment. “Renee. I like your…slacks.”

“I came directly from work.”

“Of course,” Pamela didn’t feel that required further clarification. “10 seconds into this exchange and you have yet to call me a whore, are you feeling alright?”

“If you could quit being a smug asshole for two seconds, I’d appreciate it,” Renee snapped, shoving both hands deep into her pockets, setting her jaw as she surveyed the rapidly filling arena. It wasn’t quite to capacity yet, but close.

Pamela wasn’t sure how to proceed. She would prefer their interaction end here, but Renee had yet to move away, despite her harsh tone. “Would you like a drink?” Pam ventured, hoping that would help whatever this was.

Renee cleared her throat before answering, “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Renee repeated. “I’ve decided to lay off for a while. One of the compromises Kate and I made.”

“Oh,” Pam tried not to sound so surprised. “Good for you.”

“Thank you.”

“What was her compromise?” Pam wondered. Maybe it wasn’t her place, but as long as Renee was going to continue inhabiting her personal space, she was going to ask. “Besides not sleeping with other people, I mean.”

When Renee didn’t respond, Pamela braved another glance at her, getting the answer she was looking for. “It was your idea, wasn’t it? The interview.”

“What gave me away?”

“Well, I was finding it difficult to shake the feeling a case had been built against me.”

“It fell apart in court of public opinion, unfortunately.”

Pamela finished her champagne. She wasn’t sure if they were waiting for a formal toast or if it had already happened, but she couldn’t nurse that drink any longer. “When did you know?”

“About you and my wife?” Renee asked. “Almost immediately. Floral perfume isn’t my thing or hers. Didn’t take a detective to narrow the suspect field, but the fact that I am one made the whole thing that much more insulting.”

“And it took you that long to confront me?”

“It took me that long to decide if I was going to make her fight for me or take her for everything she’s worth in a divorce.”

“Ah,” Pam signaled Barbara for another glass.

“You weren’t the first, you were just the best looking,” Renee continued, more like she was talking _at_ Pamela rather than to her. “She can be so aimless…we’ve been together for 8 years now and it feels like I’ve aged 30 in that time. And yet…here I am…in love. How terrible.”

Pam nodded, taking that in, whispering a quick _thank you_ as she accepted the champagne handoff from Barbara. “She’s in love with you too, Renee. She’s just—,”

“I know what she is,” Renee interrupted, turning to her fully now, looking her in the eye. “She’s overqualified. You remind me of her that way, and I know it’s the reason you found each other. Not that you seem to give a shit, but…I don’t resent you, not anymore.”

“That’s…big of you, Renee,” Pamela decided after a moment of silent contemplation. “I’m not sure I’d be able to overcome a betrayal like that. From either of us.”

Renee scoffed. “I’m not enlightened, Dr. Isley, I just invested in some therapy. I recommend you look into it.”

“Still, good for you,” Pam doubled down. “You know, if you’d like to…I don’t know…not get drinks together some time, I think we’d—,”

“Oh, no,” Renee appeared mildly horrified, making it clear Pamela had misunderstood her intent. “This was not an offer of friendship. If you were murdered, I’d still half-ass your homicide investigation.”

“Gotcha,” Pam nodded quickly,

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS IS IT, WHAT YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR, THE MAAAAAIN EVENT!”

 _Thank god_ , Pam welcomed the interruption as the crowd roared in response to the announcer’s booming voice.

“THE GREATEST GLADIATOR MATCH IN THE SUPER LIGHTWEIGHT DIVISION. THE BAT OF GOTHAM VERSUS THE HARLEQUIN FROM HELL. IT ALL COMES DOWN TO THIS FOLKS, SO LET’S GIVE A WARM GOTHAM CITY WELCOME TO OUR ROOKIE PHENOM, THE CLOWN PRINCESS OF CRIMES AGAINST HER COMPETITORS, IT’S HARLEEN QUINZEL!!!!”

The lights flickered in the arena, the spotlights searching, but Pam’s eyes were already on Harley’s tunnel. The title fights were always allocated a larger budget, so when Harley was finally illuminated, she was backlit by a red light emanating from within her tunnel, creating the perfect demonic atmosphere for Harley’s typically feral entrances.

However, the song that began to play seemed relatively upbeat. Rather than jumping up and down or pounding her chest in exaggerated clown makeup, Harley was just standing there…in aviator sunglasses and a leather jacket over her sports bra…her hair cut short and styled, the red and blue pigtails gone. If not for the fact she was a blonde rather than a redhead, Pamela might have mistaken her for Kate.

_Baby girl, you’re so damn fine though_

_I’m tryna know if I can hit it from behind though_

She strode out of the tunnel with a calm confidence that Pamela wouldn’t call typical, raising one fist into the air as acknowledgment. And then Pam understood the bit.

_I’m sippin on ya like some fine wine though_

_And when it’s over, I press rewind though_

“What is this?” Selina asked.

_You talkin’ bands, girl, I got it_

_Benjamins all in my pocket_

Harley pointed some finger guns into the fawning crowd.

“An impression,” Pam answered her.

_I traded in my Trues for some Robins_

_He playin Batman, Fetty’s gon rob him_

Harley reached a hand out, eliciting high fives from everyone standing near the rope line.

_I’m like, yeah, she’s fine_

_Wonder when she’ll be mine_

_She walk past, I press rewind_

_To see that ass one more time_

She was nearing the ring now, but just before starting up the stairs, Harley grabbed a female fan who was leaning over the rope line begging for a high five, and dipped her, kissing her full on the mouth.

Renee was trying her best not to laugh. “It’s not bad.”

_All fast money, no slow bucks_

_No one can control us_

Harley let the woman go, leaving her in a daze that the camera operators made sure to zoom in on, projecting the woman’s sexual awakening on the jumbotron as Harley jogged up the stairs and into the ring.

_Aye, yeeeah baby_

The music faded out, Harley making sure to add a moonwalk in there before it did. She grabbed the announcer’s microphone as he was beginning to ask a question, saying “Ooooh! It _does_ feel good to be Kate Kane!” to laugher and applause.

“Harley!” the announcer was playing up the comedy, his grin broad and laughter loud. “It looks like you might officially be stepping on Ms. Kane’s turf!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she pulled her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose, winking directly into the camera. She then took off the leather jacket, throwing it into the crowd, and making sure to flex in the process.

“Then let’s get her out here, YOUR CAPED CRUSADER, YOUR BATWOMAN, YOUR DEFENDING CHAMPION, YOUR HERO, KATE KAAAANNNNNE!!!”

_I just took her name and made that bitch a LLC_

Kate stepped out of her tunnel, backlit in yellow, wagging her finger playfully at the camera, wearing a good-natured smile.

_I feel like I’m King Kong, name still going ding dong_

_It’s two girls getting’ more money, and they don’t rap, they sing songs_

“Cute,” Kate mouthed, starting at a jog now.

_What’s left that I didn’t do? You bit the forbidden fruit_

_You thought you’d get my spot? Who the fuck was kiddin’ you_

She cupped her ear, pointing at Harley with her other hand to make sure she was listening.

_Took a lil’ break but I’m back to me_

_Tryna make a new Nicki from the factory_

_They’ll never toe to toe on a track with me_

_There’ll never be another one after me_

Kate banged her fists on the floor in parody, and then her chest, finishing by flashing a peace sign at the camera.

“What a fucking idiot,” Renee said, and Pamela laughed out loud.

_Cuz the skill level’s still a half of me_

_All these low IQ hoes baffle me_

Rather than following her usual routine and walking up the stairs, Kate chose to take a play out of Harley’s book and launch herself over the ropes, landing on her feet and blowing a kiss to her fans. “Cute,” she said, audibly now that the music had faded away. “I like the haircut.”

“All for you, baby,” Harley teased, sliding her sunglasses on top of her head.

“Be honest, Pam,” Selina said. “How wet are you right now?”

Pamela pursed her lips, considering. “To characterize myself as bone dry would perhaps be a misrepresentation…”

“Please, Harley, I’m married,” Kate joked, slipping out of her black satin robe, tossing it to her corner staff.

“Never stopped you before,” was Harley’s retort.

Selina had clearly held a different vision for their entrances. She was shaking her head, disappointed by this display. “We needed a villain, not another Kate.”

“She’s playing Kate’s villain,” Bruce said in what was perhaps his only worthwhile contribution to any conversation ever. “Her own worst enemy.”

“Alright, ladies,” the announcer stepped between them. “Are you ready to give these folks a show?”

“It’s what I’m here for,” Kate said, and the crowd responded, the anticipation palpable.

They retreated to their individual corners, Damian working to quickly wrap Harley’s hands before lacing up her gloves while Slade squatted next to her, whispering in her ear. Kate didn’t seem to be paying very close attention to what her coach was saying, her focus seemed entirely devoted to Harley, her good humor gone, replaced with a dead eyed stare Pamela didn’t claim to recognize.

“This is her last fight,” Renee said, only loud enough for Pam to hear. “She’s announcing her retirement tomorrow.”

Pamela turned to her, surprised. “Why?”

“She’s not interested in being phased out,” was Renee’s answer. “She wants to go out with a bang.”

“I want a good, clean fight, ladies,” the referee was saying, a hand on both athlete’s shoulders. “I won’t tolerate cheap shots.”

Harley and Kate both nodded, and they were released, the two moving forward to touch gloves, a show of sportsmanship that Pam wasn’t expecting. When they did, Kate leaned in, draping one of her arms around Harley’s neck, pulling her close to tell her something the microphones didn’t pick up. She then released her, and they stepped apart, returning to their corners for a quick squirt of water and last-minute advice from their coaches.

“I’d really love it if this went well,” Selina said, her version of a prayer.

Pamela wished she was sitting ringside. Not that there was anything she could do to help, and not that Harley would want her there. She’d asked for space and so Pam was going to respect that, she just…missed, being a comfort. Hoped she could be again someday.

The bell rung to signal the start of the first round, and the fighters stepped forward, both staying light on their feet, sizing each other up. Harley already had her hands up for protection, she’d learned from her mistake with Talia that her opponents at this level of competition could strike from just about anywhere in the ring. Kate seemed a bit more relaxed, her gloves subtly bobbing at neck level.

Harley took a quick step forward, throwing a quick jab as she did. Kate blocked and countered with a cross. Neither landed consequential hits or saw another opportunity, and so they stepped apart again, circling each other.

“Kate needs to get her hands up,” Bruce said, dropping his napkin on the plate of food he’d finished. “That hook is going to come hard and fast.” He stood, finding a place at the window between Selina and Talia.

“She knows what she’s doing,” Renee said.

“No,” Talia disagreed. “Here it comes.”

The words had just left Talia’s mouth when Harley lowered her front shoulder, throwing a left-handed uppercut, slipping Kate’s responding jab, and coming back with a lefthanded hook all in one movement.

The hook landed on the hinge of Kate’s jaw, and although Pamela wasn’t a medical doctor, she immediately knew something was broken.

Pamela felt Renee tense beside her, and Kate stumbled backwards, in shock. The pain hadn’t hit her yet, but it was about to. Harley let her out of range, not following her into the ropes.

Selina grabbed the radio they used to communicate with the technical and medical staff, holding it to her mouth to say, “Let’s get a medic on standby, that was disgusting.”

 _“Yes, ma’am,”_ they radioed back.

Kate was unsteady on her feet, using every muscle in her body to resist dropping to her knees or holding onto the ropes as her jaw hung awkwardly off its axis. Harley allowed the round to expire like that, not engaging with her again.

As soon as the bell rung, the stools were out and Kate was falling back onto hers, a medic climbing over the ropes, sticking a needle in her face to inject her with a numbing agent from a syringe. The camera was in a tight closeup, projecting her agony and injury onto the jumbotron.

Slade was patting Harley on the back, smiling from ear to ear. That was the best first round she’d ever fought, and he was proud. Harley was smiling too, and even without the sloppy red lip, it was clear the playful Harley from the walk-in was gone.

Pam didn’t think anyone had expected the first round to go like that…the atmosphere in the room felt uneasy.

“She’ll be fine,” Renee muttered as Kate stood, squaring up for the 2nd round.

Kate began on the offensive this time around, which seemed to catch Harley off guard. She was slow to block a jab-cross-jab combo, taking a hard hit to the body before she threw her counter—a hook that Kate was able to slip, which left her body exposed for another jab to the stomach. Harley fought her body’s natural inclination to double over, pushing forward for an offensive sequence of her own.

She jabbed four times in a row with her left, stepping forward with each one, crowding Kate near the ropes. While Kate tried to find her bearings, Harley tried a hook with her right, which Kate blocked, but the blonde then followed up with three quick uppercuts, the first landing squarely in Kate’s gut and the other two just under her ribcage. Kate curled inward to protect herself from further assault, and as she did, Harley twisted, following through with a right-handed uppercut that didn’t carry all that much power due to her body position, but connected directly with Kate’s nose. Harley’s glove came away covered in blood.

The round ended before Harley could do any further damage, and the two fighters were separated again. Kate’s nose was reset, a rather painful procedure, by the looks of it, and the bleed was clogged. She shoved her coach’s hands away when he tried to hold her face steady for the medics, “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” her lips weren’t hard to read.

“I should be down there,” Renee said, grabbing her coat before exiting the skybox.

Pamela watched her go, and then turned her gaze to Harley, who was sitting on her stool, Slade pressing gently on her abdomen. Harley shook her head each time, opening her mouth so Damian could squirt some water into it. Slade was nodding now, patting her on the shoulder, and then he helped her up, Harley cracking her neck before the next round.

“She’s out of control,” Bruce said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I’m not sure she did her homework.”

“Who?” Pam wondered. She knew who but hearing it out loud would feel good.

“Fuckin’ Kate,” Selina shook her head, finishing her drink. “She’s off.”

“Or maybe Harley is just having a good fight,” Luke suggested before Pam could.

Selina’s smile was tight. “Maybe.”

Pam knew that smile, it was the ‘I’m about to lose a lot of money’ smile. Seemed Kate wasn’t the only one who’d underestimated Harley.

Kate’s performance from that point forward was fueled by a potent mixture of rage and adrenaline, which put Harley on the defensive for most of the next two rounds. Luckily, Harley was able to block most of the strikes to her face, though that meant sacrificing her body for shot after shot.

By the time the 5th round began, Kate was in obvious pain and exhausted, and that’s when Pamela began to understand the strategy. Her whole life, Harley had been used like a human punching bag, and now, that endurance might win her a title. She’d started out aggressive, earning decisive victories in the first two rounds and injuring her opponent in ways that would nag her throughout the rest of the fight. In the next two rounds she played defense, taking her licks and conserving energy while Kate tired herself out, wasting her effort. Harley would simply outlast her.

The problem, though, was Kate was still considered the best for a reason. She could not be counted out.

Kate began to lower her gloves again, holding them just high enough to protect her jaw, her feet slowing. Even Pam, who had never stepped foot in a ring, knew that once a fighter’s footwork began to break down, they became essentially a sitting duck. Without solid footwork, there was no way to effectively control your range, meaning keep your opponent within your range for striking, or stay out of their range for evasive purposes.

Harley, who had been waiting for this exact opportunity, advanced quickly, probing with a jab at the same time as Kate threw a lethal cross, Kate’s glove managing to slip past the hand Harley still had up for protection and landing squarely between Harley’s eyes, the force pushing her back into the ropes.

And just like that, the tides shifted.

Kate did not show Harley the same mercy that Harley had shown her earlier, following her into the ropes before the referee could step between them. Harley tried raising her gloves to protect herself, but Kate was quick and efficient with a jab-jab-cross-hook-uppercut combination that dropped Harley onto all fours.

The crowd roared, the thunderous applause causing the skybox window to vibrate, and Pamela’s heart dropped.

_1-2-3_

The referee began his count, squatting down next to her.

Harley spit a mouthful of blood onto the mat, forcing herself into a kneeling position where she paused for what felt like an eternity, blood dribbling down her chin.

_4-5_

Pamela took a step closer to the glass, her pulse thrumming in her ears, stomach twisting violently.

Harley moved one shaky leg, placing her foot on the ground and raising her head to look Kate in the eye.

_6-7_

Pam knew it was over even before the referee counted off the final second.




And that was it. All the preparation, all the hard work, all the brilliance Harley had displayed, and Kate was going home with another belt. Just like that. The referee waved his arms, signaling Kate’s victory, and the crowd erupted in applause.

“SHE’S DONE IT! A COME FROM BEHIND VICTORY! KATE KANE IS YOUR CHAMPION ONCE AGAIN!!!”

Harley remained on her knees even after the confetti began to rain down, her chin dropping to her chest and her shoulders sinking. And rather than taking her victory lap around the ring, Kate collapsed beside her, pressing her forehead against the younger woman’s and saying something that only Harley could hear.

The referee gave them a moment before helping both up to their feet and raising Kate’s hand in victory, the redhead’s smile lopsided due to her broken jaw while Harley spit another mouthful of blood onto the floor, wiping roughly at the excess that had now dripped onto her chest.

“Oh, thank God,” Selina breathed a sigh of relief. “I think I sweat through my shirt.”

Bruce put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “That was quite the show.”

One they were released, Kate immediately found Renee, wrapping her up in a hug that was broadcasted for everyone to see. Renee grabbed a handful of Kate’s hair and held her there against her neck, her shirt quickly staining with a mixture of blood and sweat from Kate’s mutilated face.

And while the world was watching that, Pamela watched Harley get a hug of her own, from Slade, of all people. She buried her face in his chest and he rubbed her back soothingly while Damian untied her gloves. 

“Selina? Bruce?” Pam turned to the couple, a welcome calm overtaking her. “Can I have a moment alone with you?”

/

Pamela had only had her heart genuinely broken twice in her 35 years, both in the last month, once by a woman, and once by boxing in the name of that woman. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d wanted that victory for Harley until it was over. What a painful thing empathy could be.

There would be next year, though, Pam was sure of that. Harley would bounce back, she’d evolve and overcome, it was in her nature to rebuild.

“Shit, Red,” Harley buried her face in her hands as soon as she entered the locker room, noticing Pam where she was leaning against the wall, waiting. “I’m so sorry.”

Pam adjusted her stance, pushing away from the wall, but still careful not to crowd her. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I just lost you so much fuckin’ money,” Harley sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

“Oh, sweetheart, you—,”

Slade funneled in behind Harley, giving her shoulder a strong squeeze as he passed. “She cut her tongue pretty bad, that’s where all the blood’s coming from,” he told Pam, his tone clinical. “It’ll be fine, the mouth heals quickly.”

“Right.”

“You know the drill for the concussion protocol,” he continued, nonchalantly, grabbing a bag from his storage locker and slinging it over his shoulder. “She’s doesn’t have one, but better safe than sorry.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Pam nodded.

He was at the door now. “She gets a week off, then I want her back in the gym. I reserved a 1pm off season training time and she can’t be late, so do whatever it is you need to do with schedule coordination to make that happen.” His focused switched from Pam to Harley. “Hey, look at me, Quinzel.”

And Harley obeyed, moving her hands away from her tear stained face, sniffing as she did.

“It’s all about preparation,” Slade said, pointing a finger at her for emphasis. “So we’re going to do things right next time. And I mean from the beginning. You may not be the champ to them out there, but you mangled that smug face of hers pretty good, so you’re a winner to me.”

Harley nodded, steeling her resolve, though she couldn’t keep her lower lip from pouting.

“I’m proud of you,” he told her…and then he left. That man was truly allergic to the word ‘goodbye’.

The locker room was silent after that, Pam and Harley alone for the first time in over a month and Pamela found herself anxious. She had a lot to say and was unsure of what order to say it.

Thankfully, Harley spoke first. “She didn’t even hurt me that bad…”

“I know.”

Harley blinked.

“She told you she was retiring, didn’t she? Just before the match started.”

“How did you…?”

“Renee,” Pam explained.

Harley laughed at that, though her voice was still strangled by grief. “You talked to Renee?”

“Yes,” Pam chuckled, grateful for some levity. “She went to therapy and decided horizontal hostility wasn’t a great look.”

“I don’t know what that means but good for her,” Harley sniffed, wiping her nose, and then the tears were back. “I should have just finished it. It’s stupid, she wouldn’t’a done the same for me.”

Pamela considered that. “You’re probably right,” was her eventual ruling. “But that’s what makes you different than her. And that difference is part of the reason I’m standing here, asking you to give me a second chance rather than in Kate’s locker room, doing more damage to her marriage.”

Harley took a deep, shaky breath in response. “Pamela, I…I don’t know if I can do this again with you. I—,”

“Now, hold on,” Pam took a step forward before Harley could talk herself out of anything. “You had an awfully specific must-haves list for the person you wanted to date after all of this was over. Let me think, it was…someone who isn’t afraid of saying they’re in love with you. I think I covered that earlier, but in case you forgot, I love you, Harley.”

“Red, I—,”

“No, wait, I’m not quite done. Next it was…someone who works nowhere near you, right? Technically, my company is now based in Virginia, is that far enough?”

“Pamela…”

“Someone who isn’t close with your asshole bosses…that one’s hard because Selina is more or less the only true friend I have, however, she’s none too pleased with me right now and it’ll probably be a little while before she forgives me, so I feel like that’s taken care of. Remind me what the last item on your wish list was? Oh right! Someone who doesn’t get paid to watch you urinate.”

“Take a piss.”

“Of course, excuse my pretentious terminology.”

“You know I hate that shit.”

“Luckily for you, Harleen, I am no longer employed by WBA—effective immediately, meaning watching you ‘piss’ is no longer part of my job description.”

“Red, what did you do?”

Pam shrugged her shoulders, trying her best to hide a sly smile. “I figured now was as good a time as any to graduate from princess and assume my rightful place atop the pork industry throne.”

“You—Pammy, you quit? For me?”

“Yes,” Pamela confirmed. “For you, and for me…for us, really. I—,”

Harley’s resolve dissipated completely, and her lips were crashing against Pam’s before she could get another word out, her body slamming back against the lockers just like their first kiss, although this one was infinitely better. For one, Harley put a hand on the back of Pam’s head to protect it from the impact, and the passion this time was fueled by more than just lust. This was love, and it was a feeling Pamela didn’t realize she’d been craving.

“I love you too, Red,” Harley panted in between kisses, hungry and desperate. “And you look so hot I wanted to rip that dress off when you came in here earlier and maybe hate fuck you up against these lockers.”

OK, so maybe there was still a little lust mixed in there too. But that was healthy. Necessary, even.

Pamela felt lightheaded, intoxicated. The coppery taste of blood tainted their kisses, the wet salt of tears on her lips. “Hate fuck me?” was all she could manage to say.

“Yeah!” Harley insisted, separating just enough to press her right forearm into Pam’s neck, using it to pin her there while her left hand worked Pam’s dress up her thigh. “I was really fuckin’ mad at you!”

“I’m not sure this is part of the concussion protocol,” Pamela breathed, her eyes sliding shut of their own accord.

Harley stilled her hand, stalling its upward path while she leaned in, ghosting her lips across Pamela’s jawline before rasping, “Fuck the concussion protocol,” against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

Pamela gasped when Harley bit down on her earlobe, tugging on it none too gently. This was the best possible outcome, and Pam wasn’t about to squander it with modesty. “Harley, I want you so—,”

“So I guess you two are back together then?”

Harley instinctively jumped backwards at the adolescent male voice, putting her hands up like she was going to be arrested. Pam was quick to cover herself. She was never happy to see Damian Wayne, but this was by far his worst entrance.

“Gross.”

“Gross?!” Pam was demanding at the same time as Harley was yelling, “Party foul, bro!”

“Get a fucking room!” Damian yelled back at them, grabbing his bag from the bench where he’d left it. “This is a public place and I’m a child.”

“You’re a teenager,” Harley disagreed.

“Right, so keep your shit teen rated, you pervs,” he shook his head, simultaneously incensed and disappointed, somehow resembling both Talia and Selina in that moment. “And wash your hands first Harley, Jesus Christ. See you next week.” He left it like that, making sure to slam the door behind him.

“He has a point about the hygiene,” Pam admitted, yanking her dress back down and patting her hair into place. “Would you like to…continue this at home, maybe? Preferably with all the same…energy?”

“If I don’t crash on the way there, absolutely,” Harley said, throwing a hoodie on over her sports bra.

“And will you stay?” Pamela ventured, knowing she might be pushing her luck. “Or is Steph’s couch really that comfortable.”

Harley smiled, her expression soft and kind. Something Pam had been sorely missing in her life for some time. “I’ll stay, Red. But I need you to promise me somethin’ first. I need ya to always be honest with me, OK? And I mean always, even if it’ll hurt me. I don’t need protectin’. I’m yer partner, got it?”

“Got it,” Pamela agreed, nodding decidedly. “Do you want me to start right now?”

“Well, yeah…”

“OK, I love your hair like this. Not that I didn’t like the pigtails, they’re cute, it’s just…”

“You wanna call me daddy now, huh?”

“Maybe only one time and we don’t have to psychoanalyze it.”

“Works for me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting a little epilogue tomorrow, probably, so stay tuned for that :)


	26. Epilogue

“Aye, Ma!” Harley shouted once she had the door open, not feeling the need to knock. “You still alive?” she waltzed inside, checking each room as she passed through them. “You hungry? I’m starvin’. Oh, hey!” she grinned when she spotted her standing on a step stool in the kitchen, reaching for a jar of peach preserves. “I guess we could eat here, if you’re makin’ lunch.”

“Who let you in?” Lillian wanted to know, already upset.

“I’ve got a key,” Harley reminded her, jingling her keychain to illustrate. “You gonna make a pie or somethin’?”

“No,” Lillian muttered, retrieving the jar and stepping back down to the floor. “I just wanted something sweet, now please leave me be.”

Harley clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “Can’t do that, Ma. You know I gotta check in on ya. If you and Pam were nicer to each other it would probably be her here...but since pigs still can’t fly, yer stuck with me!”

“I’m only 60 years old!” Lillian argued, her typically chilly demeanor giving way to legitimate frustration. “I’m not going to fall and break my hip! I just want to be left alone, please almighty god.”

Harley wasn’t fazed. “Let’s go on a walk or somethin’. Stretch our legs, get you outta the house.”

“Is it compensation you’re after?” Lillian wondered; her desperation obvious. “Because I will pay you never to come back here.”

“And miss out on time with my favorite mother-in-law?” Harley gasped. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m your only mother-in-law, Harleen.”

“That’s right,” Harley confirmed. “So quit being such a grumpy bitch and let’s hit the town. I’m your only daughter-in-law too, ya know.”

“And I’m tortured every day by that fact.”

Harley shrugged. “Your fault for not havin’ more kids. You got any errands to run? Pammy let me take the Rimac today, so we’re gonna do it in style.”

Once Lillian concluded Harley wasn’t going away any time soon, she decided on a more nuanced approach. “I was under the impression she gifted you that car. Why do you need her permission to drive it?”

But Harley could see that shit coming from a mile away and she was not going to let it distract her from the task at hand. _Nice try_. “It’s cuz I got too many tickets and almost got my license suspended. So it’s only for special occasions now…like spending the day with you! Now let’s go,” she clapped to encourage Lillian to get a move on. “Time’s a wastin’.”

Harley waited outside in the car for Lillian to change. She thought the outfit Lillian had been wearing before was totally fine for a quick trip to the dry cleaner and the farmer’s market, but whatever. If she’d learned anything about the Isley women in her life it was don’t question the look. Everything had it’s own uniform and you do not question that.

Her phone vibrated in her lap, and she smiled at the text message. **Is she behaving?**

 **Never** , Harley replied.

**Pammy <3: Looks like we’re both having shitty days.**

**What happened?**

**Pammy <3: I had to visit a plant where hard hats are mandatory. **

Harley laughed, biting her lip as she responded, **was your hair OK?**

**Pammy <3: Required triage, but yes. **

**You’re so brave.**

Harley saw Lillian approaching and opened the passenger side butterfly door for her, the older woman tapping her foot impatiently as she waited.

“This vehicle is absolutely ludicrous,” she complained as she bent over to step inside.

“Electric, too,” Harley grinned, the door mechanism never failing to delight her as it closed them inside together. “So what have you been up to?” she asked once they were on their way into town. “Anything fun?”

Lillian glanced over at her, refusing to engage in small talk. “Are you physically incapable of wearing a shirt with sleeves?”

“I thought Pam said you were pro 2nd amendment…” Harley laughed at her own joke while Lillian rolled down the window, looking like she was contemplating escape. “You like my new tattoo?”

“No.”

“You didn’t even look!”

“I don’t like tattoos.”

“This one, right here on my shoulder, see?” Harley insisted, gesturing towards it with her head. “It usta be a ‘J’ for my shitty ex but I made it into a mermaid.”

“How wonderful for you.”

Harley let out a happy sigh. “Yeah, it’s been nice ta leave all that shit behind me. It can be tough to realize how much power people still hold over you, even after they’re gone. Kinda sad, actually, if you think about it too hard.”

Lillian kept her eyes pointing resolutely forward.

“He’s not dead,” Harley clarified, although Lillian hadn’t asked. “He just doesn’t mean nothin’ to anybody now, which is worse than dead, maybe.”

Again, there was no response, but Harley didn’t mind.

“So…” she changed the subject, drumming on her steering wheel as they crept down main street. “What do you think? Dry cleaners first? Me and Pam got banned from a dry cleaner’s in Gotham one time because I threatened to use his guts like curtains.”

That, Lillian couldn’t ignore. “How would that even work?”

“I don’t know,” Harley admitted. “It wasn’t my best line, but it sure scared the shit outta him.”

Lillian sighed, resigning herself to this reality. “Dry cleaner first, and you’ll be waiting in the car.”

“Sure, whatever you say. I should take a right here, yeah?”

“Yes.”

Harley slowed to a stop at the 4-way intersection, waving at the pedestrians who’d stopped mid-crosswalk to take a picture of her car. Lillian shielded her face with her hand, sinking deeper into the leather seat.

They took the 15-minute parking spot on the curb outside the dry cleaner. “Don’t have too much fun in there,” Harley warned once Lillian made it to the sidewalk. “And let me know if you need backup, I’m the two-time defending champ I’ll fuck literally anybody up for you.”

Lillian turned on her heel without responding, entering the store front with her head held high.

“You just say the word, Ma!” Harley called after her.

Her phone was ringing now, Pam’s name popping up on her lock screen. She answered with a smile. “Heeeyyyy, pretty lady.”

_“I don’t think I like that.”_

“How come?”

_“You sound like my father’s creepy friend at my 18 th birthday party.” _

“Oh, yikes,” Harley cringed. “How ‘bout this one, what’s up my sexy wife?!”

_“…better.”_

Harley laughed. “Hey, your mom’s actually in a really good mood today.”

_“Why do you say that?”_

“I gave her the chance to be mean about my mermaid tattoo and she just said she didn’t like tattoos in general,” Harley revealed. “I actually think she might love me.”

_“I wasn’t expecting to be confronted with such compelling evidence.”_

“You’re bein’ sarcastic and that’s why you’re never gonna have a healthy relationship with her.”

_“What time is your flight tomorrow?”_

“I don’t know, didn’t your assistant book it?”

Pam sighed on the other end of the line. _“It turns out a good assistant is hard to come across. I never should have promoted Barbara. I miss her.”_

“You still see her like every day, Red.”

_“I mean I miss her being on top of things for me.”_

“Ah, gotcha, I—oh, wait, your mom’s back,” Harley opened the door again, turning on the engine to switch her phone call to Bluetooth while Lillian climbed back inside.

“This car doesn’t have a back seat, where am I supposed to put anything?” Lillian complained.

“Just on your lap works,” was Harley’s answer.

_“Hello? Harley? Are you still there?”_

“Is that my daughter?”

“Yeah! Red, say hi to your mom.”

But Lillian was already leaning into the speaker. “Pamela, please stop this torture exercise. I am deeply uninterested in a bonding opportunity with this woman you made the mistake of marrying without a prenuptial agreement.”

_“She’ll be in Gotham City for the next 6 months, so enjoy this time while you have it. Harley?”_

“Yeah?”

_“If my assistant did remember to book you a flight, I’ll have her email over the itinerary.”_

“OK, sounds good. Love you, Red, see ya at home tonight.”

 _“I love you too. Mother? I’ll see you for brunch on Sunday if you can stomach it.”_ And then Pam hung up, leaving a smile on Harley’s face.

She hadn’t been expecting Lillian to be picking up so many clothes ( _just throw it in the washer, geez!_ ). At this point there was more fabric than woman in the passenger seat. “We should probably skip the groceries for now,” Harley decided.

“I assume your season’s starting back up, is that why you’ll be gone for so long?” Lillian wondered.

“Yeah,” Harley confirmed, trying not to be too excited by the personal question. “I try not to travel much when I’m training. It can get kinda distracting and I’ve gotta be on my A-game since they started letting us actually fight.”

“What inspired their change in business model?”

“I guess they bought out a league on the west coast and couldn’t keep things on the downlow anymore with all the new athletes and management and all that,” Harley shrugged. “Got more expensive to cheat.”

“And Pamela visits you? In Gotham?”

“Mhm,” Harley nodded, starting on their route back to the Isley estate. “She comes to all my fights and usually stays for the weekend.”

“I was never able to be apart from Robert for that long,” Lillian said, sort of to Harley, sort of to herself. “Even when he was home, he spent most of his time and energy on work, but…it was reassuring to have him there. I don’t think I realized what that meant to me until he was gone.”

Harley blinked, not expecting a confession like that. “I was never really good at bein’ alone either. Forced me into some choices I ain’t proud of. But I bounced back. It’s crazy what people can bounce back from. I once broke this chick’s jaw in the first round and her nose in the 2nd and she still ended up beating me in the 5th. Can you believe that?”

“What an inspiring story, truly.”

“She had to get plastic surgery to fix her face,” Harley continued. “And now Pam’s invested in some new downtown high rise with her. Weird, right?”

“It defies explanation.”

“It harvests renewable energy or something cool like that. First step to makin’ Gotham green! That’s what Pam says. It sounds cooler when she explains it,” Harley assured. “You should ask her more about it on Sunday.”

“We’ll see if it comes up…”

“Hey, it’s been really nice havin’ a mom again,” Harley said before Lillian could retreat to her emotional ice castle. “I’m gonna miss our afternoons together when I’m back in Gotham. And the grass and the fresh air,” she added. “I always miss that stuff. Can’t believe Pam ever willingly gave it up.”

Lillian cleared her throat lightly. “I’m sure she planted a garden to breathe some life into the place.”

“Yeah, she did,” Harley said, smiling at the trees that bracketed the long drive leading up to the house. “But I meant the havin’ a mom part too.”

The car was silent as they pulled up to the front porch.

“Listen, I don’t know if you’d…ever wanna come to one of my fights, but Selina still let’s Pam watch from the skybox, so it’s pretty cushy,” Harley told her as she put the car into park. “Doesn’t have to be this one coming up, but…whenever you’re ready, might be kinda fun.”

“Why would I want to fly to the cesspool that is Gotham City to watch you brutalize other women in your undergarments?”

“I don’t know,” Harley laughed. “The open bar?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are awesome. Thanks for the warm welcome back :)


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